MY MASTER
by Saeshmea
Summary: Minerva and Severus tell us the story about their D/s agreement after the war. She is emotionally damaged and he is trying to fit in world that hates him. How will their relationship evolve? ADULT/BDSM
1. Introduction to submission

**Disclaimer: I obviously don't own any character from the Harry Potter series, I just do this for fun and my own pleasure, and since I don't earn any money from it I don't see how it can be any harm.**

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**Warning: This is an ADULT story with BDSM content and a lot of SEX scenes. So DO NOT read if you are underage or are too sensitive.**

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**A/N: This will stay a one shot story or maybe have a few chapters depending on my inspiration. This first part has very little of Harry Potter, but the next ones (if they do come) will take place in Hogwarts.**

**Enjoy!**

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**My master**

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**Introduction to submission**

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**by Saeshmea**

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I hesitate while my hand rests on the golden doorknob of a dark wooden door in Knockturn Alley. Maybe I should just go home, this can't be my place, I think. The building looks abandoned, no noise comes from the inside, but I am certain that it's the right address.

I read about the place a couple weeks ago in the waiting room of San Mungo. Going through the magazines they had for the patients and visitors, I found this article in the psychology section of Magic Medicine Today titled: _Sex and submission_. It's not the kind of subject I usually look to widen my knowledge about, but at that moment it seemed preferable and much more entertaining than the entire special section about magic amputations or the previous article on how to grieve the death of our loved ones.

Of course I knew that there was people who enjoys this kind of foreplay during their sexual intercourse, but I had to admit to myself that I ignored there was a complete world around it with its own rules, and places specially dedicated to them. _La Maison de la Soumission_ was one of this places, or so said the article, and it is there where I am right now.

I go in. A shirtless man receives me very politely into what looks like the lobby of an elegant hotel.

"Good evening, ma'am, may I have your cloak," he says, and he helps me out of my tartan winter clothes.

"Thank you," I say. Underneath my cloak, I'm wearing a long green dress with a brown leather belt on my waist, a very casual choice of clothes I made this morning since I didn't know too much about the dressing protocol of the place I was going to.

"Welcome to La Maison de la Soumission, ma'am," says the big woman with a very messy curled red hair that's standing behind the counter after the man is gone, "mistress or submissive?" she asks.

"I..." I mutter stupidly.

"Oh, I see, darling," she says in a very sweet voice, standing up and walking closer, her big breasts pressed against the counter as she speaks, "you're new to this," she observes, "don't you worry, dear. You'll find your place soon enough," she assures, "masters wear masks, submissives don't," she explains shortly as she bends over to take something from a drawer I can hear opening and closing, "take one with you, and enjoy yourself."

She hands me a white mask that I take and then shows me the way through the black wall at the left of the counter.

One more time, I hesitate as I stand in front of the dark stone wall. It's not that late to go back, I think, but I'm so close. I place a hand on the stone, I feel its magic, and I wonder what kind of sins might be going on behind it at this right moment and if I really want to be part of them.

Two weeks ago, while I was in the hospital, waiting for the doctor to come and tell me they hadn't been able to save Moody's leg and had to amputate it, reading about this sinful world had helped me keep my mind distracted to the point that when the doctor finally called me, it took a second for me to remember why I was there. Those twenty minutes had been the first time in years I'd been able to keep my thoughts away from the war or anything that had to do with it. I had been able to relax for the first time since the war had finished and I even found the strength to offer a comforting smile to my friend when I entered his room and saw his mutilated body on the hospital bed.

Back at home I felt the need to know more, I found very few references on my books so I went to the library, where I borrowed a novel: Me, a submissive witch. I read it non-stop. The language, the style, weren't nothing of an other world, certainly not great literature; but the story, the scenes described... I couldn't get enough of it. I needed more.

It was then when I remembered the name of the place: La Maison de la Sumission, I guess the name had brought me to think it would be in the continent, because when I learned it was here, in London, in Knockturn Alley; I was surprised.

When I trespass the magic wall I find myself in a large room decorated in a very elegant french style. The first thing to catch my attention is a young brunette lady who is kneeling down on the floor, wearing nothing else but a leather collar on her neck with a lace, whose end is held, very firmly, by a gentleman sitting on an armchair, smoking a big cigar and wearing a golden mask. He's having a heated argument about economy with another masked man, who is having a massage by a younger boy in underwear.

I decide to put my mask on, the white one the lady in the lobby gave me, and I cross the room. I sit on the large bar and when the waiter asks me what I'm going to drink I order a gillywater with no ice, but knowing I'll probably need something stronger, I change it for a double shot of firewhisky before the man can open the bottle.

Once I have the drink on my hand I turn around on the stool so I can see what else is going on in the room.

There's a large fireplace at my left and two women are talking very friendly, one is wearing a mask the other isn't. I observe them for a while, and then I watch the mistress stand up and walk to the staircase at the other side of the room, followed by the submissive.

As I watch them disappear, the question I was unable to answer before pops in my mind again: mistress or submissive?

I keep observing the room and as it gets more crowded, I become more used to the dynamics of it and more amazed by the respect towards the rules.

Those who come in already accompanied by their own submissive go directly upstairs or have a drink first and then go. Those who come in alone go directly to the bar to order something and then, if they wear a mask, they go to the sofas area and if they don't, they go to the sits at the side of the room or stay in the stools of the bar. The submissives do very little, they just sit and wait; it's the masters and mistress the ones who watch and approach the man or woman of their liking.

I suddenly realize I still have the glass of firewhiskey on my hands but I haven't had a sipped of it yet. When I'm going to, I realize the mask is on the way, so I take it off; I leave it on the bar, behind me, and I finally savour my drink. I empty the glass down my throat in one gulp and feel it warming my stomach.

"Allow me to invite you to the next shot," a deep male voice startles me and I turn to my left to see a tall man in dark clothes and wearing a silver mask occupying the stool next to me.

I look at him. He wasn't there a moment ago. Ignoring my surprise, he gestures the waiter to refill my glass and serve him the same.

"I saw you taking your mask off," he says, "are you putting it back on or is it a permanent change?"

Suddenly I realize the importance of my silly previous gesture in the place I am, and I take the white mask from the bar and play with it with my hands.

"I don't know," I say.

"Sir," he says, and I frown, "if you're going to keep the mask off you must refer to me as Sir or Master," he explains.

"I don't know, Sir," I repeat, and for some reason I don't feel funny playing that game.

"I see," he mutters, "maybe I could help you decide; but first, what should I call you?"

"My name is Minerva," I reply, "Sir," I add, and the waiter comes with his drink and my refill.

"Lovely name," he points out, "tell me, Minerva, what brings you here?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, but he stays quiet, staring at me through the holes of his mask. It only takes a moment to me to understand what I did wrong, "Sorry," I apologize, not sure of why, and I repeat: "what do you mean, Sir.?"

"Everybody has a reason to be here, some seek power, control, authority; others seek punishment, redemption, peace," he explains, "who are you, Minerva?" my name sounds different on his voice, it melts on the air and makes me want to hear it again.

"I don't seek power, Sir." I confess, and I leave the mask on the bar again to take my new shot of firewhisky.

"What is it that you want, then?" he asks before having his drink too.

"Freedom," I say, and I look at him, and there I find something on his dark eyes, something on the way he stares at me, that makes me feel he understands. I realize now that I didn't talk to him directly, but when I'm about to repeat my answer, he speaks.

"I can give you the freedom you need, Minerva," he says, and he comes down from the stool and stands in front of me.

"What?" I mutter, suddenly getting my situation at this point, "I... I didn't... I..." I clear my throat, trying to regain my temper, "Wouldn't you prefer a more experience witch to please you, Sir.?"

"Maybe," he replies, "but you're a quick learner," he offers me his hand, and for the third time that night, I hesitate.

* * *

Upstairs there is a long corridor with numbered doors; we go into room 57.

Behind the door there is hidden a very fancy suite with a nice bed dressed in red sheets and dozens of candles lighting every corner. At this point it hits me that I'm about to have sex with a stranger and the idea of running away passes through my mind.

"Having second thoughts?" he asks. He's standing in the middle of the room while I have stayed next to the door.

"No," I say, "No, Sir," I correct myself, "I was just thinking that I don't know your name, yet, Sir."

"That's because you don't need to," he replies.

"But you do know mine," I reply, and by his look I know I've done something wrong..

He walks towards me, and I fear that he's going to do something. I reach for my wand instinctively, but he just stands in front of me, so close that I can hear his respiration under the mask he's still wearing.

"Take your shoes off," he says, or better said, he orders, very calmly but firmly and I obey; I don't know why, but I do.

As I bend over to undress my feet, he walks to the bed and sits on the edge.

"Come," he says when I'm done. I walk towards him, half scared, half excited about what will come next, and I stand in front of him, trying to remember the protagonist of the story I read and the other girls I saw downstairs, "kneel down," he instructs, and I do, without hesitation.

When my knees touch the ground I look at him and he bends towards me and corrects my position. My bottom is now sitting on my ankles, my back very still and my hands resting on my tights.

"This is how you'll sit if I tell you to kneel down," he says, "understood?"

"Yes, Sir.," I reply, and now I feel more excited than frightened.

"Now, let's discuss the basics," he says, "the first thing you must know is that you don't have to do anything you really don't want to," he explains, "you must feel comfortable with this, alright?"

"Yes, Sir.," I answer.

"As a submissive, you must follow some rules," he continued, "you already know two of them: you must always speak directly and respectfully to your master; and you must always obey him," he said, "now you will learn the third: disrespect and disobedience must be punished," as he says this last word, fear makes me forget about the excitement I felt a moment ago.

"Punished, Sir.?"

"Yes, you talked to me disrespectfully and now you will be punished," he stands up and walks around me. I don't move.

"Bend over the bed," he says, "your knees on the ground," he adds, and I do as I'm told, wondering what my punishment will be.

Half my body lies on the red sheets when he comes to me and corrects my position again. Grabbing my wrists, he takes my arms to my back and then presses me against the mattress so my belly feels the corner of the bed right under the leather belt I'm wearing.

He says nothing, but I feel the skirt of my dress being rolled up, and he brings the fabric to my hands to hold it. My bottom is now only covered by my lace knickers and when I feel his hands go around my waist, I think he's going to pull them down, but he doesn't. Instead, he undoes my belt and takes it off.

The good loose sensation on my waist distracts me from previewing what is coming and all of a sudden I am surprised by the leather slashing my skin.

It is so unexpected that I can't even manage to yell, I do, though, feel some tears fill the corners of my eyes when my body becomes aware of the pain; a very sudden pain that, as it lowers, becomes strangely pleasant.

"Are you alright?" he asks, and I wonder if he was maybe expecting some kind of review during the short moment of silence.

"I am," I say, "Sir.," I haven't moved an inch.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asks, and I wonder if it's some kind of tricky question, if I should give some kind of right answer.

"Not really, Sir.," I reply, choosing honesty.

"But, could you endure more?" he asks, and now I get the trick.

"I could, Sir.," I answer, and getting a stronger hold of the skirt with my hands behind my back, I prepare myself for the next hit.

...

My ass is throbbing, probably red and maybe even bleeding; my hands are sore from grabbing the fabric of my skirt so strongly and tears are running down my cheeks; but my mind is empty. Empty of ghosts, of bad memories, of everything to do with the war we've passed. My mind is blank and I feel free.

Suddenly he stops, and I stay in place as the pain lowers and that odd pleasure invades my body again, this time more intensely.

I feel his hand on my bruised skin and I shiver. As he caresses me, his touch awakens a sudden desire on my body; and when his fingers go under my knickers, a moan escapes my lips.

"Stand up," he says, and I notice him moving aside. I open my hands and let my skirt cover my nudity and then I slowly sit up on my knees before standing up.

My arms, my legs and specially my ass are very sore; but as my muscles get used to this new position I become aware of a different feeling between my legs, some sort of magic, of spell that feels like an invisible finger rubbing my clitoris.

I want to ask, but I fear my mouth might betray me and I don't want to be punished again. So I just look at him.

He's still wearing his silver mask and he's watching at me through it's little round holes. On his left hand he holds my leather belt, the one he's used to spank me, and he makes it swing on the air.

"Take your clothes off," he orders and I obey.

Slowly I unbutton the upper part of my dress and remove my sleeves. When the dress falls on my feet, I remember my wand is in its pocket, but I quickly convince myself that I won't need it. Once I'm completely nude, he walks around me and I wonder if he likes what he sees. My body is not twenty years old any more, my skin is not smooth, my breasts are not firm and I am practically bones since the war ended.

"Come," he says, and he offers me his hand, just like he did down at the bar. I take it, and he walks me to the bed. At every step I do, the intensity of the spell he's done on me increases more and more.

He makes me lay down, my head resting on the pillow, my body still on the center of the mattress; and takes my hands over my head, tying them down to the headboard using my belt.

He sits astride on me and I see him take his wand out of his pocket. He whispers some words and a black handkerchief appears on his hand. He uses the cloth to cover my eyes and, at this point, restrained, blindfolded and assaulted by some spell I can't control, I feel completely powerless.

I notice the mattress being freed of his weight and I instinctively try to get free, but that only empowers more the magic he's used on me and soon I crave for an orgasm that doesn't come.

I sink my feet in the sheets, fighting the continued rise of pleasure that invades me. I need it to stop, I want it to stop.

"Please," I beg, "Sir.," I say, "Master."

He comes to me, I feel him sitting on the bed, I hear his breathing.

"What?" he asks.

"Make it stop, please, Sir."

"Not yet," he says.

"Please," I insist, "I can't stand it anymore, Sir."

"Of course you can," I feel his hand caressing my upper arm and going down to my breasts, and then drawing circles on my belly as my entire body is throbbing in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Please, Sir," I beg, "let me come. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" he repeats, and I regret having said that.

"Yes, Sir."

"That is a dangerous deal to make," he says, "but since this is your first time, I will only ask you for a kiss." I feel relieved, happy that he hasn't taken advantage of my weakness.

He moves his hand to my chin, and he holds it still as he bends over me and places his lips on mine. He has removed his mask and I wonder if that's the reason he blindfolded me. His lips still taste of the firewhiskey we shared before. It's not a brief kiss, but it's not passionate either. I've had better kisses, but I've never been kissed while being in complete ecstasy.

As soon as his lips leave mine, I feel freed from the spell and the throbbing stops suddenly, too suddenly. Immediately, I feel his hand between my legs and he helps me reach that point when your eyes go blank and your mind is emptied and your body is taken away for an instant that seems to last an eternity.

...

When I am back to my senses, I feel his hands untying the knot of the handkerchief and the light of the room blinds me for a moment. He's sitting besides me and he's wearing his mask again.

"How are you feeling?" he asks as he lets me free from my leather belt too.

"Good," I say, "I'm feeling really good, Sir."

"Did you found that freedom you were looking for?" he asks.

"I did, Sir," I reply, "for a moment, I certainly did."

"I'm glad," he stand up, "it was a pleasure helping you, _Profes-_ Minerva."

"Professor?" I never told him I was a teacher, which could only mean… "You know me," I say horrified, "who are you?"

"You don't need to know," he says again, and he walks to the door, "goodbye, _Professor McGonagall_," he says, and after that he leaves and I am left alone, in shock, in that room, naked, wondering who my mysterious master was.

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TO BE CONTINUED... maybe.


	2. A hell of a week

**A/N: **My intention was for the second chapter to be from the master's POV, but after an exchange of PM with Slytherin66 I realized that was too fast.

There's no bdsm or sex scene in this part. It is only Minerva's week after her mysterious encounter to learn a little more about her life. But don't worry, I do plan on writing more of that.

BTW, and just to make things clear, this is set on January 1982 and I've tried as much as I could to make it fit in the cannon calendar of that period, but there's a few mistakes… For those who like everything to be mathematically perfect, I'm sorry. Honestly, I don't care much about that.

One last thing, now that nobody has said anything yet. If when you discover the identity of the master you don't like the pairing, safe your hatred review and just stop reading or, do keep reading and maybe you'll learn that it's not that bad to read a story of a pairing you dislike when it's any good.

ENJOY ^_^

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**To the shy readers and the guests: you can PM me if you don't want to leave a review, or you can e-mail me at saeshmea hotmail . com (without spaces and an at in the middle). I just feel bad when I can't reply a nice comment from a guest.**

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**MY MASTER**

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**A hell of a week**

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**by Saeshmea**

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"There was a man in black clothes, wearing a silver mask. He had black hair and dark eyes; and left just a moment ago. Who was him?" I ask to the big lady behind the counter in the lobby.

"I'm really sorry, ma'am," she says, "but privacy is our only policy."

I am too tired to start an argument with the poor lady so I wait for the shirtless man to bring me my cloak and I leave.

It's past midnight when I cross the gates of the school. It was starting to snow when I left this afternoon and now everything is covered in a white blanket that shines under the light of the full moon. I must admit it's beautiful.

As I cross the grounds of the castle I get lost in my thoughts. I've been spanked, tied up and blindfolded, fucked by the skillful hands of a man who I believed a stranger, but who's not...

Shame. That's what I think I should be feeling right now, but don't. Why would I be ashamed of something that has made me feel so good?

Fear. That's what I do feel. The man behind the mask frightens me right now more than anyone I could have encountered during the war. Who is him? Where?

Finally in my rooms, I get rid of the dress and the belt, put my slip on and go under the sheets. My bottom is still sore, but I fall asleep quickly and for the first night in weeks I have no nightmares haunting me.

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On Monday my weekly routine begins again and I hope it will help me forget the weekend. Obviously, I'm wrong.

During the meal times, I find myself looking around the male staff, trying to recognize his dark eyes on the face of any of my colleagues, fortunately, I don't, but when I'm back to my rooms at night I realize it only means he could be anyone, anywhere. Before going to bed, I open a bottle of my favorite gillywater brand and pour myself a glass.

...

On Tuesday it occurs to me that maybe he's one of the Order members. Black, for instance, could easily fit on the description of my mysterious master, if it wasn't because he was in jail.

It's been two months and I still can't believe he could betray Potter the way he did. Those boys were inseparable when I had them in Gryffindor and now... Poor Lily. If she knew her dear son has been left with her hatred muggle sister… I haven't been able to take that baby out of my mind. Poor Harry. I need a drink.

...

I spent Wednesday afternoon in the library going through some old yearbooks. He called me 'professor', so he must be one of my former students. I hope pictures will help me remember, but I soon learn what a bad idea it was when I open the 1970-71 yearbook and find young Frank Longbottom smiling at me. Oh, Frank. I should owl Augusta. The last time I spoke to her was when we caught the Lestranges, but with Moody being hurt and all, it's been almost three weeks.

I go back to my room, take a parchment, a quill, some ink and the bottle of gillywater I opened on Monday and start writing. I hope she's handling fine with her grandson.

...

On Thursday I decide to keep myself busy, so once I'm done checking essays and preparing classes I start cleaning. After tidying my desk and reorganizing my bookshelves it comes the turn of my closet. While emptying the drawers, I come around my leather belt, the one I wore to La Maison de la Soumission, the one he used to punish me, to tie me up to the bed. The memory of that night makes me wet and I end up masturbating under my sheets.

Later, I pour what's left of the gillywater into a glass and wonder if I'm ever going to find out the identity of my mysterious master.

...

Friday finally puts an end to this hell of a week I've been having. I only have classes on the morning so, after having lunch in the great hall I go to London.

Alastor is still in the hospital, and he will be staying for at least two more weeks. Seeing him missing one leg is painful, but I've arranged everything so the Auror Department pays for the best orthopedic leg in the market. They didn't want to because he was injured in a mission for the Order, not for the Ministry; fortunately I know how to move strings when it's necessary.

Two short knocks, one long, two short and he lets me in.

"I knew it was you," he says, "nobody else remembers to use the password."

"I've seen what you do to intruders," I say, taking my cloak off and hanging it on the wall, "I'm not willing to risk it."

We like joking around, but we rarely laugh; not aloud, at least. We know people think it's because we take life too seriously, but it's not that. Alastor says it's because we have suffered too much and there's no laugh left inside of us. I like to agree.

He moves to one side of the bed to make some place for me and I sit down facing him.

"How are you doing?" I ask, arranging the pillows so he can sit up properly.

"Fine," he replies, "they take really good care of me in here," he adds, "how's been your week?" he asks.

"Like always," I say, "classes, essays, meetings…"

"You should try to have fun, Minerva," he takes my hand, "the war is finished and you need a life outside of that castle. Find a hobby," he says, "find a man, Minerva."

"Are you hitting on me, _Mr. Moody_?" I joke, because even to him I cannot tell the kind of hobby I've found, the kind of man I've met.

"No, _Mrs. McGonagall_, I gave up a long time ago," he replies, with half a smile on his face.

"What about a chess game?" I ask, trying to cut the tension we've build between us.

"Only if you've brought me a good poison," he says, and I point with my wand to my cloak, hanging on the wall, and a firewhiskey bottle comes flying to us.

...

I end up spending the night in the hospital. It's hard to say goodbye when you're having a good time, and I always enjoy myself with Alastor. We finished Hogwarts the same year, we worked together in the Ministry for some time, and we fought side by side against _You-Know-Who_ for the Order. We are good friends. I know he'd like us to be something else, I am not that bind, and I would love that too - things would be a lot easier - but I don't feel that way.

* * *

I apparate in Hogsmeade and start walking to the school. I'm not out of the town yet when a voice stops me.

"Minerva," it says, and I turn around to find the Headmaster walking towards me on the snow.

"Good morning, Albus," I greet him.

"I didn't expect to find you here," he offers me his arm and I gently rest a hand on it as we start walking together.

"I spent the night with Alastor," I explain, only because I know he won't get any wrong conclusions.

"I hope he's fine," he says.

"He is," I assure, "I guess you're coming back from the Ministry," I say, "How did the trial go?"

"Better than expected, my dear," he replies, "they have agreed to my proposition and he won't have to go to Azkaban. He'll remain free under my responsibility."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Albus."

"I do," he assures, "I trust him completely," he adds, "that's why I've arranged everything for him to come back to Hogwarts."

"How?" I wonder.

"I'll make him Slughorn's apprentice. He wants to retire after this year so we would be needing a replacement anyway after the summer," Dumbledore explains, "this way, we save us the job to find one".

"Do you think that's a good idea, Albus?" I ask, "He's still a former Death Eater."

"He just made one wrong choice," he says, "but he's a good boy," he insists, "you do remember him from his student years, don't you Minerva?"

"Vaguely," I admit as we arrive to the gates of the school.

"Well, you'll be able to see it with your eyes this afternoon."

"This afternoon?!" I exclaim.

"Yes. I will be here to welcome him when he arrives after lunch time, but then I will need you to walk him around. I'm expected back in the Ministry at six o'clock so I can't do it myself, and Slughorn is spending the weekend with his family, so there's only you left," he explains, "you don't mind, do you my dear?"

"Of course not," I lie. The last thing I want to be doing this afternoon is babysitting a former student around the castle, specially one that became a Death Eater; but I can't say no to Albus.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. Introduction to mastery

**A/N:** This chapter has suffered so many changes that I really want to think it's perfect right now, even if I know that's not possible.

Ok, I'm not going to say anything else just not to spoil surprises. I hope I don't disappoint anyone and the story doesn't lose too many readers…

Enjoy ^_^

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**MY MASTER**

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**Introduction to mastery**

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**by Saeshmea**

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I trust very little Dumbledore's words when he says I have nothing to worry about. I have killed innocent people. I have tortured innocent people. I was, I am and I will always be ,to the eyes of magic justice, a Death Eater; and he will not make me believe the opposite.

The Ministry is eager to show the wizarding community that they have everything under control, they need to regain the trust of people and we - the very few that are standing in trial during these weeks - have to pay for our own crimes and the ones committed by those who are still hiding or have been able to buy their freedom.

I know enough names to give example of both, names nobody else would dare to point at, but they are of little help to me, because I used what could have been my ticket to freedom even before the Dark Lord was defeated. I gave Dumbledore all the information he wanted, I betrayed my Master and those who I considered my friends in exchange for one only life: Lily's; and he failed to protect her.

That's why it's hard for me to believe Dumbledore has any power to help me, that's why I've gotten used to the idea that I will spent the rest of my days in Azkaban, that's why I'm unable to show any emotion when I learn I won't.

...

"You'll stay in probation under my responsibility for the next ten years," he explains to me as we walk our way out of the subterranean halls of the Ministry, "to make it easier, you will come to Hogwarts," he says, "I know it's not where you'd like to be, but it's better than Azkaban."

"I don't need your charity," I mutter as we enter the elevator.

"It's not charity I'm giving you, Severus," he replies, "it's a job, a home, a life."

"A job?" I question.

"As a professor," he says, "I'm sure you have a lot to offer to the new generations, my boy."

The elevator doors open but I don't come out. Me, a teacher? A Hogwarts professor?

"I guess I am good on the Dark Arts subject," I say.

"Well," he extends that word, probably thinking about a nice way to reject that idea, "there's no vacancy on that field yet," he says, "but Professor Slughorn is retiring soon and I thought you could occupy his place next year."

"Potions?" I spit.

"Yes," he says, "I noticed you had your own laboratory in your house when I visited you, and when I checked your NEWTs marks I saw they were excellent," he explained, "I thought you'd find my proposition suitable."

"Well, yes sir," I say, "but it is one thing to brew some potions for my own and another to teach a bunch of kids how to do it. I wouldn't know how to start."

"That's why I want you to move to the Castle right away," he says, "you'll be Horace's apprentice for the rest of the term, work hand in hand with him to get used to the job."

"Do I have a choice?" I ask, thinking of how much I despised that man when I was a student.

"Not unless you want to go back to the court on your own," he says with that ability of his to hide threats behind the sweet tone of his voice.

* * *

Later I'm at home, going through bookshelves, drawers and closets, wondering what I am supposed to take with me and what not. I know I don't need to pack anything from my laboratory because Hogwarts has its own labs and they are better equipped; I'd like to take with me my entire library, but I guess I won't have place in my rooms for so many books, so I end up putting in my old trunk only those that I think could be useful. Clothes are an easier choice to make; when I'm done taking the essentials, the only thing left in my closet is a box resting in a corner.

I haven't opened it in a long time, the things I keep in it would distress the majority of people, but not everyone.

…

It was my last year at Hogwarts. During the summer I had came across some magazines hidden in my father's room. They were porn. I had already seen some of those before, my roommates brought them from home, and even though they never shared them with me, I could sometimes get a glimpse of the naked women moving sensually in the pictures, and wouldn't understand what was so interesting of them.

The photographs of my father's magazines didn't move, but they awoke in me a lot more interest. These ones showed women being tied up, kneeling in front of a man or another woman, being spanked or flogged... Sometimes there were short stories about these submissive women and I would go into the bathroom in the middle of the night to read them and masturbate myself as I imagined I was their master.

When I went back to school that year I brought a few of those magazines with me. One morning, one of my classmates found one and showed it around saying it was mine. I thought they'd make fun of me, that they would think I was a weirdo... but they liked the pictures, they laughed at the girls on them and commented their bodies as if they were like the women on the other magazines; but they weren't, not to me.

That same day I received a note: _Meet me in the prefect's bathrooms at 10 o'clock_. It had no signature but it was a beautiful handwriting, surely from a girl, and curiosity made me attend the date.

"You came," her voice said after I closed the door. She was tall, brunette, with round tights and wearing a Slytherin uniform, but I didn't know her.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"The magazine the boys had this morning," she said, her hand suddenly caressing my chest, "was it really yours?"

"Yes," I answered, distressed by her touch, "who are you?" I insisted.

Cristine, that was her name. She was a sixth year student and my first submissive. We would meet in the prefect's bathroom or the owlery at night. At the beginning she would guide me, tell me what she wanted me to do or say. I didn't understand why pain excited her so much, but it was beautiful to see the reaction of her body or the changes on her face and knowing I was responsible for that.I never felt in love with her, and I don't think she did either. I just liked having her in my power, control her, being _Master_ of her body in a way I would never be of Lily's. Her own reasons didn't interest me.

* * *

Because I'm bringing too many luggage with me I decide to take the Express to Hogsmeade. Maybe there's also a little nostalgia involved in the choice, but I don't give it a deeper thought.

The train is almost empty, peaceful… and I realize I could be enjoying this journey a lot better if I wasn't thinking of Dumbledore, and the fact that I owe him my 'freedom, and the promise I made him and must keep, and Slughorn, and how I despised his teaching ways, and having to work with him for the next months… I shake my head, trying to drive all this thoughts away and thinking of anything else, and an image of Professor McGonagall bended over the professor's table in the Great Hall as I flog her ass with that thick leather belt of hers suddenly flashes in my mind.

…

Last Saturday it was my birthday and, since there was still a possibility that I would end up in Azkaban in a few days, I decided to give myself a treat going back to _La Maison de la Soumission_, where I hadn't been since I joined the Death Eaters. I needed to screw and torture any bitch I could find, specially since it would probably be my last fuck. I arrived early and sat on the couches, not many time later a woman came in and stayed at the bar. She was new, I could tell by the way she observed everything going on in the room, and because usual customers never wear the white free masks they give you, we prefer something more personal.

I tried to pay little attention to her, if she was a mistress I had no interest at all; so I continued looking around, but, somehow, I always ended up peeping her. She was not young, I could tell that, and she was too skinny for my liking; but she reminded me of someone, her hair bun, her stiff sitting position… at some point, my former transfiguration teacher came to my mind and as ridiculous as that possibility could sound, I changed my seat to be closer to the mysterious woman. Suddenly the resemblance became undeniable. It had to be her.

My guess was confirmed when she got free from her mask for a moment. There she was, my former Professor McGonagall, sitting at the bar of _La Maison de la Soumission_, with her face unveiled.

I approached her with no intention of taking her upstairs, I just wanted to tease her, to find out what she was doing there. She had been my professor, it had to be wrong in some manner; but as we spoke, she became just a woman to my eyes, a grown gorgeous woman in need of freedom.

I knew exactly what kind of _freedom_ she was talking about. She was running away from her own self, she needed to become someone else, just like I do when I act as a master. Looking at her eyes I understood I could give her what she needed.

* * *

As I wait for Dumbledore to meet me at the gates, looking at the view of the school covered by a snow blanket, I can't help but think she's somewhere in that Castle, needing me just as much as I need her.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	4. Mr Snape

**A/N:** I hope you don't feel like I have rushed things, I just don't want this to take too long. Not the story but the moment we're in… Anyway, read, enjoy and leave your comments if you wish.

Enjoy ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Mr. Snape**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

As I head to the dungeons I try to gather my memories on young Severus Snape. He was one of these boys who sits alone, silently, and you would forget that he is in your class if it wasn't because of his excellent marks. I also remember him getting in trouble with some of my Gryffindors a few times, but I must admit that Black, Potter and their friends were the ones responsible many of these times. What can I say, they were kids. He was a Slytherin but that is no excuse for joining the Death Eaters.

I wonder why he chose to betray them. A lot of them had a very convenient change of heart during the last months of the war, but Mr. Snape is the only one I know to receive such good treat from Albus. Whatever it is he did to gain the trust of our Headmaster, I ignore it; and I imagine I wouldn't even know the little I do about this matter if it wasn't because Dumbledore thought I could move strings in the Ministry in behalf of his young friend. I did try, but I don't think I was of much help, that's why I ended up telling Albus that maybe by offering his own persona as guardian of the accused, the Wizengamot would see he really believed on the boy deserving a second chance, because they did have him in great estima. It was a risk and I hoped he wouldn't do it, but as usually, he didn't stop to think.

I knock twice and wait. When the door opens, a tall man stands in front of me, he has black hair and his dark stare disturbs me. I have the feeling of having seen these eyes before, not in my classroom, but somewhere else.

"Good afternoon," he says, and I try to reply but his voice... it's not the one of a young boy anymore, it's deep, and strong, and I am sure of having heard it before, "Professor Dumbledore said somebody would come to show me around the school," he adds, to fill my silence, I guess.

"Yes, Sir.," I say, my mind is betraying me, I shake my head and repeat, "I mean, indeed, Mr. Snape. I'm Professor McGonagall."

"I know who you are," he replies, his tone, paused but clear, and his stare, dark but confident, make it difficult for me to keep my temper, "I attended Hogwarts not many years ago."

"That's right," I mutter and I feel stupid. I'm standing in front of a former Death Eater, I must not show any discomfort and act professional. I correct my posture and breathe deeply as I remind myself that he was once a student of mine, "follow me, Mr. Snape."

...

After a tour around the main areas of the school, I take him to the professor's lounge. When we arrive we see Pomona coming out.

"Oh, hi Minerva," she salutes.

"Hello, Pomona," I say, "this is Mr. Snape, he'll be assisting Horace for the rest of the term," I turn to him and add, "Mr. Snape, you do remember professor Sprout from your herbology classes, don't you?"

"I do," he says, and he salutes her with a polite vow, "it's nice seeing you again, professor," he hadn't talked during our journey around the castle and listening to his voice aloud, so close, disturbs me again. Why does it have this effect on me? Where have I heard it before?

Pomona leaves after saying our goodbyes and we go into the lounge. The room is empty. I walk directly to the large blackboard in the wall not caring to check if Mr. Snape is following.

"Here are all our timetables," I say, "since you're here in condition of an apprentice, your name will not appear on the board. All you have to do is follow Slughorn's classes," I explain, "check for any main changes every day after breakfast time. All last minute changes made by the professors must be told to me or the Headmaster with two hours time," I add, "I'm telling this to you because my guess is that Slughorn will have you doing his dirty work for the next weeks."

"I'm used to that," he startles me. He's standing right behind me and his voice tickles my ear and causes my body to shiver.

Control yourself, Minerva, I say to myself and I walk away to the files' drawers and start looking for something. I go back to him with some papers.

" As you know very well, the House points system is one of the ways the professors have to reward or punish the students for their merits or mistakes in the school. Here you will find everything explained with detail, along with a suggestion list of the amount of points to give or take in different situations," I hand him all the papers and add, "you won't have the power to do this yet, but I'd recommend you to get used to the system before you are made professor."

"I'll do it," he assures.

"Good. I think there's nothing more to show you," I say, and I head to the door, his steps sounding behind mine, "if you have any doubt you'll find me in my office," I add, "do you think you'll find your way back to your rooms?"

"I won't get lost," he answers as we stand in the corridor.

"Good. In that case," I really want to go to my rooms and bury myself under the paperwork that's waiting me, "I'll see you in the Great Hall at dinner time."

"Of course," he says, "goodbye, Professor McGonagall."

Those words. I've already listened to that voice saying them, saying my name. Suddenly my thoughts are taken to the fancy room of La Maison and I see the man in the silver mask standing at the door, looking at me with those dark eyes of him and saying those exact same words: Goodbye, Professor McGonagall.

It's him! No, it can't be him. It's his voice! No. They are his eyes! No, they're not.

I'm confused. I've spent the week trying to learn the identity of that man and now I must be seeing him everywhere. That's what's happening. It can't be him. He's a student of mine - was a student -, a Death Eater - former Death Eater.

A coughing brings me back to the present moment. He's staring at me.

"Are you alright, professor?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply, quitely rude, "I am alright, Mr. Snape."

"See you at dinner time, then," he says and I watch him turn around and walk away.

The resemblance is unquestionably, but he's not my mysterious master. If he was, he would have said something, wouldn't him?

* * *

When I'm done with the paperwork, I try reading, I try checking essays and even tidying up, but nothing helps me distract my mind from the new occupant of the castle.

Have I gone mad? Am I so obsessed with finding that man who spanked me and tied me up that I am willing to believe this Mr. Snape is him?

For the first time since all this started, I feel ashamed.

...

At the Great Hall I find myself staring at Slughorn's new assistant several times, looking for any characteristic that helps me deny the evident: Severus Snape is the man in the silvery mask. Even the way he holds his glass during dinner, the way he brings it to his mouth, are the same.

With no doubt that I have finally found my mysterious master, I now wonder why he hasn't come up straight to me. Does he have some kind of plan? Was it a coincidence that we met that night? Did he knew he would be here one week later?

"Minerva, dear, you're not eating anything," says Dumbledore waking me up from my thoughts.

"What?" I ask.

"Your food, is anything wrong with it?" he questions and I look down at my plate, which I have barely touched.

"Albus," I say, "may I ask you something as a friend request and get an honest answer?" I expect no success, but if I don't get some answers I won't be able to sleep tonight.

"I don't see why not," he says, "I'm the one always asking things from you."

"What makes you trust Mr. Snape?" I lower my voice so nobody else but him hears me and I notice his eyes looking at the other side of the table, where the potioneer apprentice sits, for a brief moment.

"Minerva, I wouldn't like to seem disloyal to our friendship," he says, "but that is meant to stay between me and Severus," he explains, "I hope you understand."

"Of course," I reply and I stand up, "if you excuse me," and I leave to my private rooms, hoping to find some piece and maybe have some rest.

* * *

When the door knocks, only a few minutes after getting to my rooms, I want to believe it's Albus having changed his mind and finally determined to tell what is the matter with the Snape boy; but it's not him. It's the Snape boy himself who I find standing in the corridor with a tray of food on his hands and that stare that disturbs me on his eyes.

"You should eat," he says, handing me the tray with my barely untouched plate, some bread and a bowl of strawberries.

What's the meaning of this? What is he doing up here? Why is he bringing me food?

I take the tray and walk back inside to leave it on my desk before going back to him, but when I turn around I see he's already standing in my office and the door is closed. Before I can question the situation or say anything, he speaks:

"Professor," he says, "I'd like it if we could talk about something," is he going to tell me now? "could we go into your sitting room, please?" he asks, but he doesn't wait for me to invite him in, he grabs the tray from my desk and walks in. I follow him.

He looks around like studying the room and leaves the tray on the table. He gestures me to sit down and even pulls the chair back for me. I do it and he sits as well.

We stay in silence for a long while, studying each other's eyes.

"Eat, professor," he says, "I don't mind," he adds.

"You said you wanted to talk," I don't know where or how I regain my temper, but I do.

"I do," he said, "but I won't if I don't see you eating something before," he adds, "please."

I look down at my plate. I am hungry, but I am so distressed that I don't think I can put anything into my stomach. I take my fork and pinch the piece of meat I had already cut in the Great Hall but I leave it back on the plate.

"What is it that you want, Mr. Snape?" my heart is pounding, I don't know if I should or not trust the man in front of me, but I don't fear him and I won't let him believe I do for any reason.

"I'd like to become your Master," he says, as if he was asking me for a glass of water.

"I'm sorry, should I be flattered by that?"

"I know you recognized me, Minerva," he says and my eyes open widely, "and I know you enjoyed what we did."

"Mr. Snape," I reply, putting all my effort on keeping my composure as the words escape my mouth, "I don't know what you're talking about, but you should remember that as we are in the school you must pay me some respect."

I watch him listen to every word I say without even blinking and the following silence indicates that he's preparing a proper answer.

"Very well, professor," he says, "I thought that since we were grown adults and going to work together we could negotiate some kind of agreement so we both got our needs satisfied. Obviously I misunderstood, I apologize," he stands up to leave, I don't, "you don't need to worry about my secrecy, nobody will ever learn about your one night adventure, but" he stops, holding the door handle on his hand, "if you ever change your mind," he says, "you'll find me in my office."

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	5. No chance at all

**A/N: **Long chapter with very little to say but the last boring one, I promise.

Enjoy ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**No chance at all**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

I don't eat or sleep in the entire night and on the morning I have to oblige myself to go downstairs for breakfast so I don't have anyone - Rolanda, mainly - bursting at my door checking if I'm alright.

Now that I'm done with my mysterious master problem, I want to go back to my daily routine of work, work and more work. I have a lot of classes to organize and owls to send and Sunday it's the better day to have this done.

...

"Minerva," the Headmaster calls me before I turn the corner and I turn around to see him coming with a bunch of newspapers on his hands, "we might have a little problem," he says and he hands me one of the copies of today's Daily Prophet opened by the page he was reading.

"I told you this could happen, Albus," I say giving him a stern look, "and we don't have a problem, you do."

"But you're going to help me, aren't you?" he asks, and for a slight little moment I wish he wasn't my boss and friend so I could just yell and leave like an upset child. He puts me out of my nerves.

"Help you how?" I wonder, making a big effort to stay calm.

"I'm taking all the papers that are being sent to the school before anybody reads them," he explains with such confidence on his plan, that it sounds almost good.

"Even if you could do that," I let go a sigh, "I'm afraid you're already late," I say, "Filius likes to read his copy before coming down to breakfast so he has something to argue about with Horace, and I don't think you have gone into his rooms to steal his paper."

"Horace is gone for the weekend," he replies.

"You're right, but Filius is a man of habits," having said that, Dumbledore rushes down the hall with big steps and I continue my way with the copy of the Prophet on my hands.

Apparently, some reporter called Skeeper has decided it will be good for people to know which Death Eaters had been spared from ending in Azkaban and, not only has she written a full article about the crimes they have been accused but not condemned for, she has also included a list of names with photographs among which there is one of our young new occupant of the school.

Dumbledore thought he could keep this information from the staff and specially from the children for some time, but now everybody will know, the parents will learn and he will receive dozens of owls asking for explanations, that I will have to reply.

…

Conversation during breakfast is absent in the professor's table this morning. For the moment, the children seem to ignore the news, since I don't spot anyone peeking at Mr. Snape. He sits on his chair, drinking his tea and having small bites of his toast, with a copy of the paper next to his plate, reading with a nonchalant attitude, as if he wasn't mentioned in the article.

How does he do it? How can he keep his temper so cool at a moment like this? Isn't he upset or angry?

Suddenly my memory is taken back to the room of La Maison again, and I remember that moment when I forgot to be respectful and I thought he would hit me, but instead he spoke calmly.

I wonder what he's thinking right now. I bet he imagines himself spanking Rita Skeeter with the belt of her dress. Suddenly, he raises his eyes from the paper and glances at me. Something in his look tells me it's not exactly the reporter lady the one in his fantasy and I blush. Alright, maybe I'm not really done with my mysterious master problem.

* * *

After breakfast, Albus has the genius idea of summoning a last minute staff meeting to discuss the Death-Eater-in-the-school issue with everyone. After two very long hours, our dear Headmaster is able to convince everyone that Mr. Snape deserves a second chance with a speech I pay very little attention to. I do hear, though, something about our school founders, honour and Every Flavour Beans. All a bunch of meaningless words that prevent a riot within the school, but which will be of little help against the parents.

"That's why we'll go a step ahead and will owl every parent and member of the board before the news are spread," he says to me when I speak to him after the meeting.

"When you say we…" I mutter trying not to show my distress, "you mean me, right?"

"I'm sorry, my dear," he apologizes, "I must go talk to Millicent so I know we have her support on this."

"You won't find Millie in the Ministry on a Sunday afternoon, Albus," I remind him.

"I know, that's why I'm going to her house," he says it in a tone that sounds almost like an apology.

"It's alright, Albus, we saw each other during Christmas," I said, "we're in good terms."

"I'm glad," he replies, "well, then, I leave the school on your hands," that's his way of saying goodbye, a phrase I heard day after day during the war, while he handled the Order as I managed Hogwarts, and which I hoped to hear less often afterwards; but it's been an entire term and things have yet to change.

...

Once in my office, I grab a bunch of parchments and use a copying spell - one of Filius' greatest tricks - so whatever I write down on one paper is immediately copied to the others. This way I only have to think of two texts, one for the parents, explaining them that Mr. Snape presence in our school will not affect the safety of Hogwarts; and one for the board, telling them the importance of being an example for the community by giving a second chance to a former Death Eater who has learnt of his mistakes.

I don't believe what I've written. How can I be sure that he means no danger for the school when I'm yet to decide if he means it for me? How can I talk sincerely about giving second chances, when I didn't even give him a first one yesterday? He'd been watching me during dinner, he'd noticed I'd barely touched my plate so he brought me food and used it as an excuse to corner me in my own rooms. I wonder if he really thought I would say yes, if he imagined I would take my clothes and kneel in front of him again as if we were in that damn place I can't take out of my mind.

I leave my rooms. I must sent this letters right away and the walk to the owlery might help me keep Mr. Snape away from my thoughts for a while.

I try to think of Albus. He must be at the Bagnold's house right now, sitting on their beautiful french couch and drinking a lemon sorbet after having rejected their tea offer.

Mr. Bagnold is a retired auror, the same age of Dumbledore, a man of old manners who divides his time between cigars and his wife. This would be Millicent Bagnold, not much younger, also a former auror, our current Minister of Magic and my mother's sister.

Aunt Millie had always been my role model when I was growing up, she was confident, brave and powerful, but never neglected her beauty and delicacy as a woman. I wanted to be like her and both mother and Millie were very proud of me when I became an auror. It had always been my goal, but once I achieved it, I felt unhappy so I took the decision to quit. Millie could not have been any more disappointed. She was the Head of Department at that moment and took the whole thing very personal. She accused me of being a deserter and not only banned me from returning to the ministry, but also from her life.

The next time we met was years later, at my mother's funeral, and there we agreed that we were family and should stay in good terms. Things have never gone back to how they were but we can stand each others presence, I'm here when she needs me and I know she's there when I do. Merlin knows how useful this connection has been to the Order - most lately, to influence the Wizengamot into sparing someone from Azkaban. Of course Millicent disagreed on doing such thing, but that was after I asked, following Dumbledore's petition. The only thing I've ever asked my aunt to help me with for my own privilege, was to make the Auror Department pay for the expensive orthopedic leg that Alastor will be receiving this week.

Albus knows all this and that's why he was so apologetic about going to Millicent's house on his own. I couldn't care less.

...

After having sent the twelve letters to the board members, and the four-hundred and twenty-seven letters to the parents, divided and organized by twenty different zones of England so I can give a bunch to each owl and not only a single letter; I return to my office, intending to do now my own paperwork, but failing at it and falling asleep on my desk.

* * *

The fact that I start the week waking up with my right arm stained with ink might be an indicator that this is not going to be any easier than the previous. When I arrive to the Great Hall, my suspicions are confirmed.

"What do you mean it was a sudden decision?" I hear Slughorn asking to the Headmaster in a louder voice than he would usually use, "You don't go around giving internships to Death Eaters all of a sudden," he kept yelling, "and even less, appointing them to me and not someone else."

"Horace, I assure you that Mr. Snape…" Dumbledore tried to calm him down. They are standing at the top of the staircase and haven't seen me yet.

"No!" the professor interrupted, "I don't care how good his marks were in potions, you have put him into my class because I was the one missing during the meeting."

Not willing to enter in their heat up conversation I try to surpass them without being noticed by taking my animagus form and it works.

...

During breakfast the tension is noticeable in the professor's table. Albus speech did maybe calm the nerves of my colleagues down, but it certainly did not make them forget the fact that they are now sharing their meals with a murderer and a torturer. The thought makes me realize that at least I am the only one in the table who knows he's also a Master, a master in a field they all ignore. I blush and I close my eyes stupidly believing that this way nobody will notice my cheeks have turn red. When I open them back I notice he's staring at me from his lonely seat at the end of the table.

* * *

The rest of the week passes by with a different normality. I say different because it doesn't really happen anything extraordinary, but there are a few new 'normal' things like, for instance, the constant amount of owls that have been arriving from our alumnae parent's replying my letter; there is also this new expression on Horace's face that I can't tell if it's anger of fear or a mixture of both, but it never seems to leave his eyes; and then there's this new habit some of the professors have taken of leaving a room whenever Mr. Snape comes in.

I actually don't pay much attention to this last one until Thursday. I am at the professor's lounge, checking my 3rd year essays on solid to liquid transfiguration, hearing the different conversations going on around me like a music I'm used to listen to, when suddenly there's a deep silence and everybody starts to pick up their things and leave. When I raise my head to see the reason of their rushing I see Mr. Snape has just come in. I don't move.

I study the expression on his face, with it's none, and I wonder if he's taking any satisfaccion on the behaviour of my colleagues.

"You don't have to stay," he says.

"I know," I reply, and I go back to my essays as he takes a seat opposite to me but at a safe distance.

For the next minutes, probably an hour or so, we say nothing and I have to fight myself not to peek at him. I wonder if he sense the same tension I do and for a moment I wish I had just left with the others and not stayed stubbornly as if I had to prove a point.

On a moment of weakness, I raise my eyes from the papers I'm grading and realize he's staring at me. I blush and he returns to his work. We repeat this action at least twice before I suggest a game of chess.

"Not my kind of game," he snaps before going back to his papers. I roll my eyes and breathe. He puts me down to my nerves. I make him out of my rooms and he responds nicely, but when I try to be nice to him he acts rudely.

"If you won," I say, putting my essays away and determined to get his attention, "I'll do anything you want," I dare him, knowing he will not let this opportunity pass by.

"Anything?" he asks. I got it.

"Yes, Sir," I say, making that last word sound funny to infuriate him, which I obviously can't do because he knows how to keep his temper.

"I thought I'd told about the danger of using that word around me," he says.

"I took the risk once," I say, "why wouldn't I take it twice?"

"Are you sure of this?" he asks, and he keeps staring at me like trying to make me retrieve, but I won't.

"Absolutely."

"Let's play, then," he says.

I use my wand to set the chess board on the table as he moves to the chair right in front of me and we start the game.

Every time I raise my look from the chess board I find him staring at me and I know he's thinking of that 'Anything' I said.

He's a really good chess player, I must admit; fortunately, I'm better. Suddenly I see the fruit of all those lectures from Alastor about strategy and thinking ahead. I let him think he's winning for the first twenty moves, after that I decide it's time to make sure my 'Anything' ends up on 'Nothing'.

After eighty-seven minutes of game I claim my victory.

He stands up silently. I think he's upset but instead he congratulates me.

"Well played, professor," he asks, and he points out: "you knew beforehand that I had a very little chance to win."

"No chance at all," I correct him before picking up my things and leave.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	6. Ms McGonagall

A/N: Before saying anything else, I'd like to thank the new follows this story has received. I'm really glad that people is liking this ^^

Now, this chapter is a little jump on time with Severus POV, very little, notice he says it's his third week in the school. I must WARN everybody that this is a very EXPLICIT part with SEXUAL content. I hope you like it and please, remember I'm not an english speaker and that my lack of vocabulary is a lot more noticeble on this kind of scenes.

Enjoy ^^

* * *

MY MASTER

.

Ms. McGonagall

.

by Saeshmea

* * *

I'm checking the essays on the consequences of love potions from professor Slughorn's fifth years when someone knocks my door. I cross the room knowing there's only two persons who would come visit me: the professor with more work for me to do; and Dumbledore, who knows what for this time.

I open the door with no interest at all on seeing any of those men, and I'm taken aback because it's not Slughorn, neither the Headmaster who is waiting in the hall, but Minerva McGonagall.

I've been in the school for three weeks now and this is the first time she comes down to the dungeons since that first day when she had to show me around the school.

She's wearing her tartan cloack and her eyes are red, as if she'd been crying, and I'm surprised by my own interest on what might have caused her tears.

"Can I help you, professor?" I say, not loosing my temper, once I recover from the shock of finding her at my door.

"May I come in?" she asks with such a low voice that I can barely listen to her.

I step aside and she enters my office. When I turn to her after closing the door her cloack is resting on one of the chairs and she's gazing at me.

"I don't want you to misunderstand," she says, now with a clearer voice, "this doesn't mean I've changed my mind," she stops, "I just need," she closes her eyes, probably stopping more tears; I feel her distress and decide to interrupt.

I walk closer and take her shaking hand with mine. She opens her eyes and looks at me with a mixture of fear, sorrow and a plea. She looks, at this moment, sexier than any other woman who has stand in front of me and my desire to possess her increases.

"Go inside," I say, letting go of her and walking back to my desk, pretending I'm returning to my work - Slughorn's work -, "you'll wait for me naked and on your knees."

She waits a moment, but I don't think she's hesitating, she's letting my comand sink in.

I watch her disappear behind the door of my private rooms and then I continue checking the essays. I'd be lying if I said the though of having a woman getting nacked at the other side of the wall doesn't distract me, or that it doesn't make me want to put my work aside to go directly to the other business I have in hands - I'm a man, and as strange as my sexual preferences might appear, my body have the same needs and responses as anyother -, but the waiting is part of the game.

...

She's left her clothes on the armchair and is kneeling down besides it. As I check her position I notice the same scars on her skin that I did the last time I saw her naked; war wounds, I guessed. I'm happy to see she remembered my indications from the first time, but she is still wearing her knickers and I wonder if it is a concious mistake or not; eitherway, I don't really mind. We'll make the most fun of it.

"Stand up, professor," I say, and she obeys.

"Please, Sir." she speaks, "don't call me professor," she asks.

"I'll call you whaterver I want," I say, "Ms. McGonagall," but I understand why calling her professor might make her feel uncomfortable, and I don't want that. "Now, take your knickers off, please."

She takes her hands to her waist and pulls the cotton fabric down her tights and it falls around her feet.

"Pick them up," I command, and I stay still as she bends over and takes the white knickers from the ground. I take them from her hands and at this moment she realizes she's in trouble.

"Follow me," I say, and without checking if she's coming or not behind me, I walk to my bedroom with her cotton underwear on my right hand. It's wet, and that is an indicator that the waiting did good to her. As I keep the door open for her I wonder what kind of scenarios she's imagined.

I indicate her to sit on the bottom of the bed and make her lay her back on the sheets. I leave her knickers on her belly so I have both my hands free, I take her right leg and raise it on the air, tying it down to the bed post by her ankle and then I repeat the process with her other leg. She's now completely exposed to me.

"Tell me, Ms. McGonagall, which were the first two rules of submission?" I ask.

"I must talk to my master directly and with respect, Sir.," she says, her legs beggining to feel the discomfort of her position, "and I must obey every comand I'm given."

"Good," I say, picking up the knickers and kneeling down, losing every eye contact with her, "and what happens when you are disobedient?"

"I must be punished, Sir.," she says.

"That's right, Ms. McGonagall," her juices shine under the little light of my room and I'm glad that her body is so ready.

With my left hand I tickle the inside of her tight going from her knee to the lips of her vagina and then up again. I repeat this three times, slowly, and then I fill her with two fingers. I pull them deep inside and then I pull them back, slowly. The next time I fill her I use the cotton knickers I have on my other hand and I hear her moan at the feeling of the soft cloth entering her body. I push them in until I can only see a little tip of them and I stand up.

"If I tell you to wait naked," I say, walking to my closet, my fingers still sticky with her juices, "I don't like to find your ass covered by anything," I open my box, the one I brough from my house, and take out a riding crop. I don't let her see it, but I let her hear it slash against the bed sheets and she gasps.

"You will count out loud," I explain, "from one to ten," I say, "and the numbers are the only sound I want to come out from you. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," she says, and I love the music of her voice, obedient but unable to hide her excitement.

With no more warnings, I raise the whip and put it down with a dry and sounding hit against her clitoris. She breathes in a cry, remembering not to make any noise, and grimace. She has her arms at her sides and grasps the sheets strongly with her fingers, helping her body bear the sudden pain or the sudden pleasure.

"I didn't hear you counting, Ms. McGoangall," I say.

"One," she mutters after a while.

"What?"

"One, Sir.," she says clearer and I hit her again, this time on the inside of her left tight.

"Two, Sir," she counts as her face goes from tension to relaxation in an instant.

The next stinks of my whip go from the lower part of her beautiful pale ass, which is a little raised up because of the way I've tied up her legs; to her cute little pink nipples, which grow and become hard after I've hit them.

"Ten, Sir.," she yells when I'm done and I feel the relief on her voice.

I leave the riding crop on the sheets and let her ankles free. Pinning my knees on the matress, one hand at each side of her body to prevent my weigh to fall on her, I bend over Minerva and bring my lips to the thin red mark my whip has left on her upper arm. I kiss it, I bite it and she moans. I repeat this ritual on every one of the places the crop touched, climbing down her body until my knees touch the cold stone and my lips taste the sweet juice around her clitoris.

I move back and enjoy how Minerva has lost complete control of her body at this point, and she moans and groans without stop, craving to release her pleasure.

I bring my hands to where my lips had just been and starts rubbing her clit with one hand as the I look for the tip of her cotton nickers with the other, grasp it and pull them out slowly. She arches her back as the cloth comes out and her juices drip on the floor. She's panting, shaking, moaning... and finally, she orgasms under my touch.

My erection is now hard and evident, but I am not going to look for my relief on Minerva. Not because I don't want to, but because this is not the time, just like it wasn't at La Maison.

...

I leave the bedroom to give her a moment, and come back with her clothes and a little crystal pot. She's sitting on the edge of the bed and hold the riding crop on her hands as she examines it.

I approach her and leave the dress next to her. She's silent, pensative.

"Lay down," I say, and she looks up at me and notices the pot on my hands.

"What is that for?" she asks.

"Shall we make use of it again, Ms. McGonagall?" I threat, in what I think it's a sweet tone, as I take the whip from her hands.

"I'm sorry," she appologizes and repeats: "what is that for, Sir.?"

"It's a healing ointment," I explain, "it will make the marks disappear."

"There's no need for that, Sir.," she says, taking her clothes and standing up with the intention to go and get dress in the bathroom, but I block her way with my arm.

She looks at me, Gryffindor's pride sparkling on her eyes, making me want to push her down the bed and fuck her rough to make it disappear. I don't.

"Why did you come?"

"You don't need to know," she replies, paraphrasing me at our encounter at La Maison, "Sir.," she adds, and she goes into my bathroom, bending over to pick up her dirty knickers on the way.

I leave. Upset by her lack of respect, disappointed by my lack of control. I don't know what made me ask.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	7. Brave or Crazy

A/N: A more relaxing chapter after Severus POV. I'm sorry it's a little short but I thought this was enough. The next part will come up soon (hopefully, tomorrow).

Enjoy ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Brave or Crazy**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

When I come out of the shower I feel renewed. I needed this more than I would dare to admit.

I get dressed and come out not sure if I am ready to face Severus after what we've done, although I wouldn't mind a friendly ear now that I am more calmed to talk about it.

The truth is that, looking back at this afternoon, my tears seem very silly. I guess I just couldn't hold everything in me anymore and needed to cry.

…

I went to visit Alastor to the hospital for the last time, not because I was planning on not seeing him again, but because on Monday he would be back home. We played chess, shared half bottle of fire whisky and went for a short walk around the halls of Saint Mungo. This time, seeing him with the new orthopedic leg was less strange than last Friday, when they gave it to him.

"How is it working?" I asked as we went back to his room.

"Better than the old one," he joked, "remember how I could barely move my knee, then?"

"I am serious, Alastor," I gazed at him.

"I know," was all he was going to say, as he held on my arm not to fall when we began climbing the stairs. I didn't insist.

"How is everything going in that school of yours?" he asked later, to break our silence.

"It's not my school," I barked.

"Well, you do run it for Albus, don't you?"

I spent a moment thinking for a reply, I didn't want to admit he was right and neither lie to him, so I chose to go back to the original question.

"Things are good in Hogwards," I said.

"Minerva, please," he scolded me, "we talked very little during your last visit and being here is boring. Tell me something to amuse me."

"We have a new professor," why would I bring that up?, "well, not a professor, he's only an apprentice, but Albus has brought him to the school to stay."

"Really?"

"He's was a Death Eater," I said.

"You can't be serious," he replied, "did he actually bring the Snape boy to the school?"

"Wait, you know him?" I asked.

"Of course, he became a spy for the Order during the last months of the war so I had a few meetings with him."

"You never told me this," I pointed out as we arrived to his room.

"Well, Dumbledore was very clear that it had to remain a secret," he said, "and I know I have told you other secrets before, but this was a dangerous information to hold."

"I hate it when you think you have to protect me," I muttered.

"Well, I do," he said, "You're my friend."

"So," I decide to change the way of the conversation because I hate it when we examine what we are, "What do you think of Snape?" I asked.

"Not a bad boy," he said, "but keep yourself away from him."

"You don't trust him?" I wondered.

"He's not dangerous," he answered, "but he changed sides when everybody was convinced You-Know-Who was going to win," he pointed out.

"But that's good, isn't it?" I was confused.

"Well, in my opinion, someone who does that is either really brave, or really crazy..."

* * *

I left Alastor's room thinking that Severus didn't seem crazy to me. Yes, he did have this side of him I met in La Maison, but if having those hobbies meant he was crazy then I was too.

I was crossing the corridor when I recognized a familiar voice.

"What do you mean they're being moved here? My son is not insane!" Augusta Longbottom was standing with a baby on her arms, yelling to a nurse that was almost in tears.

"I'm really sorry, ma'am, but there's nothing I can do," the young lady muttered.

"Nothing you can do?!" Augusta replied, and I saw her reaching for her wand. At this point, I quickened my steps and rested a hand on my old friend's shoulder before she did anything stupid.

"You might leave now, please," I told to the mediwitch, who disappeared immediately.

"Minerva?" Augusta turned to me, her baby grand-son sleeping on her arms, probably used to his grandmother's attacks of hysteria.

"You shouldn't be allowed to carry a wand, you know?" I joked, knowing she wouldn't laugh, but trying to lower the tension on the atmosphere. She jumped to my arms and I could do nothing but embrace her and the kid as she freed one arm to pass around my back.

…

We went to the fifth floor and talked over some tea. As she explained to me all she had had to endure since Frank and Alice were brought to the hospital I realize how much I've neglected our friendship.

I had helped alongside with Alastor and the other aurors to help find them, I wasn't there when they captured the Lestranges, but Alastor was injured that night, and I saw the tortured bodies of Augusta's son and daughter-in-law when they brought them to St Mungo. I was the one in charge to tell her.

_"You are her friend," Albus had said, "you know how to talk to her."_

He was so wrong. Nobody knows how to tell a friend that her son is fighting for life in a hospital after enduring torture for weeks.

As we finished our tea, Augusta told me that Alice was the first to come around and how looking to her eyes was all she needed to know there was nothing left of her daughter-in-law in that body. Alice was taken to the Janus Thickey Ward and Augusta began to wish for her son to never wake up. Listening to her saying that she preferred to see her own son, her own blood, dead than mad broke my heart. Frank had woken up a few days before, and after many tests the doctors had decided to declare him insane.

Augusta began to cry in front of me while the baby was being rocked in the air by a very motherly charm. I tried to comfort her, I tried to make her understand, told her she had to be strong for little Neville and that if she needed anything, anything at all, I was her friend, no matter what, even if sometimes I was so busy that I forgot to owl her.

* * *

Alone, in the streets of London, under the darkness of the night, I surrendered to my own tears. I couldn't hold them anymore. I was sorry for Augusta, having to see her son gone but not being allowed to grief him properly because, technically, he's still here; I was sorry for Frank and Alice, for baby Neville, and baby Harry, and Lily, and James; and Alastor, because his leg, even with that knee that he barely could move, was a lot better than any damn orthopedic thing they invent.

When I arrived to the school my head was about to explode, I couldn't seem to stop my tears running and my heart was beating faster than ever. All I wanted was for it to stop.

Then it came to me, that the only time since the war ended that I had been able to make all this pain and sorrow disappear had been during my "adventure" to La Maison.

I don't know if Alastor would have considered me brave or crazy for doing this, but I ended up knocking Severus' door.

…

I don't find Severus in the bedroom; neither is he waiting in the sitting room or his office. He's gone.

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	8. The spanking agreement

A/N: I'm getting little reviews, but there's at least one new follow every day and that makes me very glad ^_^ I understand this is a "complicated" plot to talk about, and I am not precisely talking about it's difficulty, because there's none, so I don't mind if you're shy or whatever to leave a comment. I'd just love to have more suggestions or ideas or corrections to help me improve this. You can PM, I don't mind, I always reply.

About this chapter: There's little to say, I think the title serves as a warning itself, so, be aware of that and nothing else.

ENJOY ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**The spanking agreement**

**.**

**By Saeshmea**

* * *

Half term meetings are boring; it's my first thought of the morning today. Maybe this is why I spend so long looking for something to wear in my wardrobe; I really don't want this day to begin. I have a very busy morning with three cases in a row and then I have to spend the entire afternoon with Albus, preparing a dull meeting that I will have to attend as well after dinner. I'd rather stay in bed.

If our Headmaster spent as much time running the school as he does doing politics I could spare having to put him up to date, and could use my free afternoon for something more profitable, like start working on the next term timetables.

Suddenly, I come around my plain green dress, which I usually wear with my leather belt, the same combination I wore to La Maison more than a month ago. I haven't touched it since then, I haven't dared. Only looking at the dress is enough to make my mind travel back and feel my knickers wet. I put it on. Maybe this is what I need to make of today a much more interesting Tuesday.

The thought that only I know what I did wearing this dress, that only to me it has a lot more meaning than any other piece of clothing, makes me feel different, special, and distracts me from the dull schedule that awaits me today as I walk down to breakfast.

When I get to the Great Hall and notice the look of Slughorn's apprentice when I take my seat, I learn the true power of my choice of clothes.

It's been a little more than a week since the night I knocked on Severus' door and during this time I've learned we both are very good pretending nothing happened. Yes, I have caught him peeking at me some times, and I have turned my eyes to him more than once during meals or in the professor's lounge - were we haven't been alone anymore, as my colleagues have got more and more used to his presence -; but there's never been in his eyes the lust I can see now.

I can feel his eyes ripping my dress off, I can almost hear his mind instructing me to bend over… We're sitting at five chairs of distance and I can perceive the power he has over me as if we were back in La Maison or his bedroom.

"Minerva," the voice of the Headmaster reminds me that I'm still at Hogwarts and I turn around, partly unhappy for having been taken out from my fantasies, party glad to be back in control of my senses.

"Yes?" I ask, still feeling him leering at the back of my neck from the other side of the table.

"Since we have a lot to discuss, I think we'd save a lot of time if we started earlier and had lunch in my rooms," says Dumbledore, "what do you think?"

"Yes, sure," I mutter, with little interest.

* * *

My classes go by fast, lunch is good, the afternoon OK and the meeting turns to be as boring as I predicted on the morning.

"I just don't understand why my students have to keep riding those shabby old brooms from before the war," says Rolanda, "but Slughorn can afford an assistant."

"Mr. Snape is not here on the condition of an assistant, Madam Hooch," the Headmaster replies from his position as head of the table in the professor's lounge, "I thought I made that very clear on our last meeting," he says, and he turns to his right to look at me, "Minerva?"

That 'Minerva' in the middle of an argument regarding the school means: please, do show this people that I am right.

"Mr. Snape is in our school on the condition of potioneer apprentice," I say as if I was reading aloud a previously learned text, "in order to make his indefinite incorporation as a professor a lot easier the next year."

"Professor?!" a few voices exclaim at the same time and I glance at Dumbledore on an I-Told-You-So way.

"Mr. Snape," I repeat, knowing that he's sitting at the other end of the table, avoiding his eyes to lower the effect of his name on my tongue, "is meant to replace Professor Slughorn after his retirement."

All faces turn now to Horace, sitting only two chairs away from me.

"You're leaving?" Pomona asks, speaking aloud the surprise of the rest of the room.

"I am old," says Slughorn in a little child's voice, "and so are half of you," he points out, "I don't know how long you want to stay in this Castle," he says, "but I am done with it."

"This doesn't fix my problem with my activities' material, Minerva" Hooch quickly reminds us that we were talking about her.

"You are right, Rolanda," I say, leaving formalities aside since she did so first, "the Headmaster and I commit to make sure your budget is increased for the next school year," I assure her, "but I'm afraid that for the time being, your students will have to keep flying with 'those shabby old brooms from before the war'."

"It's not fair," she smacks, "the kids deserve…"

"You're right, they do," I interrupt, "but there's none of them who hasn't lost a brother, a father or any other relative in the war," I add, firmly, "so I'm pretty sure that every one of your students are aware, at this point, that life, my dear, is not fair."

Silence. Stares. Whispers. I don't care if I was harsh or if I offended anyone; I'm tired of dealing with childish adults who only know how to point at others. The meeting is over.

…

"I hope you don't expect a 'thank you' for defending my position," his voice sounds at my back as I am collecting my things and I don't turn around, but I check, with a quick look, that we're alone.

"I only told facts, Mr. Snape," I say, "I have no interest in defending your position."

"Really?" he asks, and I can suddenly feel him very close, "if I could, I would turn your pretty ass red right now," he whispers in my ear.

His voice has an immediate effect on me that I can't deny, but we're in the professor's lounge and, empty or not, this is not La Maison, nor is it his bedroom; this is a place where I work, where only a few minutes ago all my colleagues were sitting in; and anyone could come in at any moment. I don't know why, this trail of thoughts that should make his proposition unacceptable, only helps to increase the arousal of it.

I turn around; on the little space I have between the table and him, and stare at his eyes.

"What's stopping you?" I ask.

He steps back. Have I said something wrong? I didn't call him Sir. Maybe I have upset him. Should I apologize?

"Roll up your skirt and bend over the table," he instructs and I feel relief to know that he's not upset.

…

I hold the skirt of my dress with both my hands and, without letting go of it, I grasp the edge of the table as I bend my body and present my ass to him.

I soon feel his fingers on my skin. First, he corrects my posture; then, he pulls my knickers down and leaves them where my thighs begin.

"I'm not going to be gentle," he says, while he caresses the cheeks of my ass with the entire palm of his hand, "you asked for this and I won't stop until your ass is blushing," I gulp thinking of how painful this can be, "or until you tell me so." He says this in a teasing way, like if he was sure I won't be able to endure the entire punishment. "Tell me, Ms. McGonagall, do you have a favorite word?" he asks, his hand stroking my ass gently, and then strongly, and then gently again.

"I don't understand," I say. I forgot the Sir again, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"A word," he says, "any word in the dictionary that you specially like."

"Thistle," I mutter, not really getting why he's talking about linguistics at this moment.

"Of course," I feel like I can see his grin from the back of my head, laughing at my obvious choice, "Well, Ms. McGonagall, from now on 'thistle' means 'stop'," he explains as he presses his nails on my skin, "it's your safe word," he adds, "I will not attend to any begging for me to cease unless you use your word. Understood?"

"Yes," I say, and he suddenly slaps the right cheek of my ass with such force that I believe the noise was more painful than the actual hit.

Instinctively, I turn to look at the door. I'm not scared about anyone hearing us because I know the sound of this room is well secured with spells, what worries me is the possibility of anyone coming in, although I know that after the meeting everybody went to bed and at this time it's almost impossible that they decide to come back.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"Yes, Sir," I repeat.

"So, what is that you have to say if you want me to stop?" he asks, making me feel like a little kid unable to understand. I hate it, it's demeaning, but I can feel the joy he takes on it, and for some reason it just helps making the situation more arousing.

"Thistle, Sir," I say.

"Good."

…

He starts with a continued soft tapping on the lower zone of one of my cheeks, something that is laughable at the beginning but that soon becomes as painful as a dry hard slap. When he feels it's enough, he moves to my other cheek. From time to time, without warning, he gives me a sounding smack with the palm of his hand open, and then goes back to that continuous pace that slowly becomes more and more intense.

At one point I have the feeling of having gone mad, because I cry, and moan, and yell, and beg, and I don't know if I'm enjoying this, or hating this, and I want it to stop, but I really don't want it to stop. All I know is that my ass hurts while the juices of my cunt are dripping down my tights.

Later there's a moment of mind clarity, when I can feel my skin almost tearing apart, my legs barely standing up, and I am sure that I want this to cease, and I know all I have to do is yell that one word that he's given me; but I remember the tone of his voice when he was talking, and think of how much pleasure he's going to take if I surrender now; and I decide that I don't want to be weak at his eyes, so I bite lower lip and bear his next smacks with what is left of my pride.

It's not long after this moment when he stops, as if he had listened to my silent plea.

…

His hand is now caressing in circles my bruised skin. The movement helps soothe the pain and my breathing. After a while he pulls my knickers back up, very gently.

"Are you alright?" he asks, helping me to a standing position, my skirt falling down in place and my butt throbbing under it.

I have no voice to reply, but I nod and try to draw half a smile on my lips to make him know that I am fine. Yes, I am in pain, there's no way I can't deny it; the reddish skin of my ass is prove of it; but if you take away the pain, which I'm sure will fade soon, I am left with adrenaline, pleasure and arousal.

"Well, then," he says, "good night, professor."

First I think he's joking, but then I watch him actually walk to the door and I can't believe that he's really leaving now. I can see his erection under his pants, so I am certain that he wants this to be over just as much as I do.

"Goodnight?" I question.

"Yes, professor," he replies, keeping his temper, as if he was not aware of his own desire, "it's late and we only _agreed_ on flushing your ass red, _nothing more_," he takes out his wand to open the door. He'd locked it, so my fear of anybody coming in had no sense.

After he's gone I realize that he played with me, with my mind, and as much as I want this to make me angry, it doesn't.

_We only agreed_, I repeat on my head as I take my things to go to bed alone.

_Agreed._

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	9. The submission agreement

A/N: Finally, we've reached the main chapter of the story. We're back to Severus POV and I hope it's not too confusing because during the first half he's going to be talking about the past and the present at the same time.

Read it, enjoy it and expect a lot more "fun" from now on ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**The submission agreement**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

I knock three times and wait.

"Come in," I hear her saying in a clear loud voice.

I go in. I've already been in her office, once. Well, I had been there before this one time, as a student, the very few times she had intertwined between me and Potter and the others, and she would usually punish us all equally, as if I had anything to do with them being a bunch of bullies.

…

She's sitting behind her desk, checking some essays that she puts away after I've closed the door.

"Take a seat," she says, gesturing with her hand to the chair opposite to her. An aura of superiority glowing around her as she bosses me around; nothing to do with the woman I left in the professor's lounge last night.

I sit down. The last time I was here was when I moved into the Castle. I'd been thinking the entire day about when to tell her I was the masked man she met a week before. I've always hated how the things that are so easy to do in La Maison become so hard in the real world. But then she called me Sir, and she kept looking me in a weird way... She'd recognized me. So when she rushed out of the Great Hall I followed her. In my head I had pictured her quickly seeing the advantages of my proposition and saying yes. When she rejected it I felt hurt and betrayed. Of course I could understand her doubts and fears but, that didn't change the fact that she'd said no without even giving it a thought.

…

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Snape," she says, placing one hand on top of the other as she corrects her position on her chair and a grimace appears on her face.

"Are you alright, Professor?" I ask, knowing her discomfort is my fault. My own hand would still be aching if I hadn't applied that wonderful ointment I have for bruises, this morning.

"I am," she lies, giving me a stern look, daring me to make another comment about her bottom being sore. I don't, despite the joy it produces me to put her on her nerves, because I really want to know why she's asked me to come.

…

During my first days working at the school, after that first encounter as colleagues, I tried to ignore her, but I couldn't pretend I didn't know her little secret and I found myself fantasying with having her on my hands again. I couldn't believe my lack of professionalism until that game of chess. I am no stupid and I realized beforehand that her proposition had to be some kind of trick but, tricky or not, as she said, there was a chance, even if little, that I could have win and I do believe she would have accepted the consequences. That opened my eyes to the possibility that she could indeed change her mind someday.

* * *

"Mr. Snape, I wanted us to meet because we've had now a few - encounters," she says, "that I've found very - refreshing."

Her choice of words amuses me. This is going to be fun.

"I would like them to become something more - regular," she adds, and I listen to every word she says without showing any emotion. "I understand this would require some kind of agreement, and this is why I've asked you to come to my office."

I am sitting opposite to her, staring at her eyes, making her nervous, saying no word.

"I think this is the time when you're supposed to speak, Mr. Snape," she finally says, a little irritated but keeping her temper. She's adorable.

"You want our refreshing encounters to become regular," I repeat, pronouncing every word the same way she did.

"Are you making fun of me, Mr. Snape?" she asks, her cheeks blushing but her voice severe, "because I thought this was a serious matter for you."

"It is," I say and I rest an elbow on her desk, my chin on my hand, as I look her in the eyes and point out: "but I am not interested on our refreshing encounters to become regular," I say, and I make a pause to savor the disappointment on her face, my little revenge, before adding, "I would, though, be interested on becoming your master," I say, "and you my submissive."

"That's what I meant," she says.

"Then say it," I dare her.

"I don't think we need to…"

"I do," I interrupt her, and I keep my stare, making her understand that this conversation will go nowhere further unless she does so.

"I," she mutters.

"Loud and clear," I demand.

"I - would like - to become - your submissive," she says, slowly, as if the word were too heavy to speak them out loud.

"What else?" I ask, and I can notice her impatience, how hard she makes this seem but, how easy she lets me control her. She's enjoying this, the humiliation, the feeling that power is slipping out from her hands, trespassing to me.

"I want you - to be - my Master," she finally says.

"Good," I say, feeling very proud of her and really aroused at this point, but not willing to let her notice, "let's discuss the agreement."

* * *

Our mutual interests become very clear on the first points of our agreement, which she insists on writing down as we speak about it, following her sick need of organization:

_1. Secrecy and discretion. As long as this "relationship"_ (we argue about how to call it for a while and end up deciding that 'relationship' it's OK) _lasts and after its termination, its submissive and dominant nature will remain a secret. If we fail to do this, not only will the "relationship" cease immediately, but the responsible part for unveiling the secret will present his/her resignation to the Headmaster and abandon the school._ (Since there is no way I can resign to this job without ending up in Azkaban, I don't see this happening.)

_2. Responsibility. The submissive and dominant nature of this "relationship" cannot and will not affect our jobs. When being around of our co-workers or students we will refer to each other with the respect that our professional positions demand._ (This is a nice way to say that, even if she's my submissive, she is still my superior in the school).

_3. Condition of the "relationship". I am not your slave and you are not my real Master. Meaning that I am not oblige to do whatever you ask me and if I follow your orders and commands is because it pleases me_ (I like how her cheeks turn a little pink as I make her say this aloud and then she writes it down).

_4. Safety. No punishment, painful experience or simple command from you can mean any real danger for me. If this ever happens, I will have the right to cease the relationship immediately._ (When I suggest adding this she looks at me in a questioning way and I tell her that she doesn't need to worry about it, that it's just something I want her to know.)

* * *

As we go on and on about this, and specially once I put over the table the matter about hard limits, I realize that writing down all these things as we speak it's not only about keeping things organized, but a mechanism to keep her composure. As I describe things and scenarios to her in order to know if she'd be willing or not to do certain things, I see on her face and her movements that she's getting aroused.

Once we think we've done enough drawing the main picture of this "relationship", we agree that our - regular refreshing encounters - will take place in my rooms during the weekends. She'll come at nine o'clock on Friday nights (I suggest beginning earlier, but she insists on having that specific afternoon free and I don't ask why) and will stay until the same time on Sunday, unless I say so. Knowing that sometimes she has to attend meetings related to the School, the Order or the Ministry, we decide that whenever this happen she will have to compensate this by whatever way I decide, without complaining.

"What about when it's you that have to attend some meeting or whatever?" she asks, "Do I have any compensation?"

"Not unless I want you to," I reply, satisfaction empowering my voice, "that's what being a submissive means, Ms. McGonagall," I say, "you'll learn it with time," I add, "if you still want this."

"I do," she says with a clear voice, and I feel proud again, proud and aroused. She stands up. Our meeting is over.

"Well, Mr. Snape," she says, walking around the desk as I stand up too, "I look forwards to Friday so we can put this in practice," I like the way she still thinks she's in control of the situation, it's sweet.

The moment she's standing in front of me I grab her right arm and force it to her back, at the same time that I push her against the table. She cries at the sudden assault but doesn't struggle against me.

"Who said this started on Friday?" I whisper on her ear as I press her tights against the edge of the desk and make her bend over the surface and notice my erection. She doesn't reply.

I roll up the skirt of her dress, too long and no practical at all for this, but I don't care, and pull her knickers down. Her pale ass has a beautiful pink color today. I caress it and she shivers, maybe because of the pain, maybe because of the cold touch of my hand. I caress one cheek, then the other, and then I take my hand between her legs and she separates them without me having to ask. She's wet, ready for it, and I don't make her wait.

I unbutton my trousers quickly, take out my cock and fuck her, finally.

...

As I said previously, the waiting is part of the game, and this time, it was a good waiting. Her vagina is tight despite Minerva not being precisely young. She's wet, and welcomes me in as if she'd been craving for me as much as I have for her. Restrained by my hands and my legs, she can barely move and it's a slave of my pacing, but her moans and groans increase my excitation and I come before she finds her own relief.

I am aware of this. I know she hasn't found any satisfaction on what we've just done. I didn't want her to. Don't misunderstand, I'm not being selfish, nor cruel; I'm being her Master.

I put my cock back in my trousers and zip them, letting her know that we're done. Without saying anything else, I leave. I am also looking forwards for Friday.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	10. Friday

**A/N: **I hope everybody enjoyed the last chapter. Don't expect the entire story to be like the following three pats, but I thought since this was the first weekend they are going to spend together, it was good to have more details. ;-) At this point of the story, though, I'm not going to give any warnings, if you don't know this is a D/s - BDSM story, then... you have missed a few important points.

Enjoy ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Friday**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

"A penny for your thoughts," says Alastor, right after his knight smashes to pieces my tower on the chess board that lays between us on the tea table of his house.

He's been home since Monday and I'm visiting for the first time, but I don't think I'm being much of a good company. My mind is clearly not with him and his comment makes me realize it.

"I'm sorry," I mutter.

The truth is that since Wednesday, I haven't been able to think of anything else than tonight.

"It's alright," he says, "but I'd like to know what's bothering you," he adds, "we're friends, you can tell me."

No. I definitely can't tell Alastor that I am distracted because in two hours and thirty two minutes I am expected in my Master's rooms. Precisely because we are friends, he would be the very last person in this world I would want to find out about this. He is always so protective with me that I don't think he'd like to know I have become the submissive lover of a man he categorized as either 'brave or crazy'.

"I was thinking about poor Augusta," I lie, pretty well, I must say.

"Augusta Longbottom?" he asks.

Moody knows Augusta too, not only was him her son's trainer when Frank became an auror, but the three of us were good friends in our student days in Hogwarts. Thinking of those times makes me nostalgic. Things are so different when you are young... Augusta and I would sometimes imagine the three of us travelling around the world, having adventures together. Obviously that never happened, especially because she was the first to get married. Well, the first and the only one because both Alastor and I have remain single to the date. It's true that for some time it looked as if we would end up together, and I will not hide that we have had our own night time encounters over the years, but despite Alastor's tries, I have never let us become anything else than friends.

"Yes, I saw her last week after leaving your rooms," I explain as I move my bishop closer to his queen, "she was having a hard time accepting Frank's condition."

"Poor boy," he says, "he would have been a really good auror," he points out, "and his lady, too, you know," he adds, "I can't wait to see what this little baby of theirs is able to do when he grows up," he stops a moment to make his next move and continues, "if only those bastards of the Lestrange had gotten the kiss."

"Well, we all knew that was very unlikely to happen with Mrs. Lestrange and Mrs. Malfoy being sisters," I say, "although I never thought Malfoy would also move strings for the husband and the brother-in-law."

"I bet that pretty wife of his knows a few tricks to make Malfoy _submit_ to her will," he jokes.

His choice of words brings me back to my original trail of thoughts, the one about how in two hours and eleven minutes I'll be knocking the door of Mr. Snape's office for an entire weekend of submission. I don't even know what this means, what I should expect. We've had three encounters so far - four, if we add the rough fuck he gave me on Wednesday before leaving my office -, and none of them, as exciting as they were, has lasted more than a couple hours. So, it is hard for me to imagine what we will do for an entire weekend.

The main character of the novel I read this Christmas comes to my mind immediately. She was a young witch in love with a very rich wizard who treats her like a sexual slave. Both the story and the love scenes were very engaging, really arousing, but nothing I could see happening in real life; especially to me. It's not because I am not young, Mr. Snape is not rich, and we are not in love. That is obvious. It's because if I was to become someone's slave, I would probably spend a large amount of time being punished for my stubborn character or my sarcastic comments. Which brings me to ask myself why would I want to be a submissive? Yes, there is this state of freedom I achieve when there's nothing else in my mind than the mixture of pain and pleasure produced by a good spanking and the following orgasm, but if that was all I was looking for, I'm sure I could find a less selfdestructing and selfdemeaning hobby than submitting to a man that - let's be honest - I barely know.

* * *

...

* * *

He receives me in his office dressed on his usual black clothes. I, after a long time in front of my closet, have decided not to dress in any special way either; although I do bring with me my night silk slip, since I imagine I won't be spending a lot of time in my clothes.

"You won't need your wand, Ms. McGonagall," he says, and he holds the palm of his hand open in front of me so I give it to him.

Unwillingly, I reach for my wand and watch him keep it on the first drawer of his desk. I don't like being wandless, and Merlin knows what Alastor would think about handing your wand to anyone, but I don't want to start any confrontation so soon. In the case I need to defend myself, I am very confident of my wandless magic abilities, and I can always just transfigure into my animagic form and run away.

He comes back to me and stands only a few feet away. His look disturbs me.

"Kneel down," he instructs, and I follow his command without hesitation, resting my ass on the back of my feet and my hands on my tights as he told me in La Maison; but despite I am sure my posture is the correct one, he bends over and grasps my hair, completely messing up my bun, and pulls me up so I am standing on my knees.

When I see his hands reach for the zip of his trousers I understand.

"Suck," it's all that he says, not that I needed to hear it to know what was going to happen, when he takes his cock out in front of my eyes.

...

I have given blowjobs before; to thank a lover for a great orgasm, to help him find his release after I have, or while he was giving me the same kind of treatment. As I've said more than once at this point, I am not a young witch, I have lived a certain amount of years and, while my Master, standing in front of me, has a lot of experience holding power and spanking asses, I have my own, in other fields.

I take my hand to my lips and, while looking up at him, I lick my palm before bringing it to the base of his cock. I stroke it gently and start moving it slowly up and down. Then I approach my mouth to him and kiss the tip. Not dull pecking, but French kissing; savoring him completely with my lips and my tongue as my hand continues its up-and-down rhythm.

I'm getting wet. I can notice it under my knickers and if it wasn't because I am still dressed, I slide a hand between my legs. Soon, his cock grows into my mouth and I put my hand down and keep going, in and out.

When I feel his orgasm coming, I try to pull out, but I suddenly feel him grabbing my hair again. For all this time, his hands have been hanging at the sides of his body, now they are holding me in place so I don't move as he releases himself down my throat.

He retires his cock from my mouth slowly, making me lick it clean as it comes out. I stay still and quite as he zips up his pants again and looks down at me.

"Stand up," he orders and we go into his private rooms.

* * *

"Please, have a seat," he says, as he moves a chair for me to sit on the table.

His sitting room is pretty much like mine: sitting area besides the fire, dinner table for those days we (the professors) don't feel like going downstairs for meals and a small kitchen area (very America for an English castle, really) for those who enjoy the culinary art (I don't).

He goes over the kitchen and comes back with two plates (green salad and French omelet). The table is set with a move of his wand and then he sits opposite to me.

"Have some dinner, Ms. McGonagall," he says as he begins to eat.

"I'm not hungry, Sir" I mutter. It's a lie, I am hungry, I haven't eaten since tea time with Alastor, but I really don't feel like I can put any food in my stomach with the taste of his cock still in my mouth and the warm feeling of his cum still on my throat.

"I didn't ask, Ms. McGonagall," he says on a tone that indicates I shouldn't make him lose his patience, "eat."

I eat, and for a long while, we don't talk, which I find both nice and distressing. I like silence, but I don't like silence with Severus.

"Would you like some wine?" he asks, serving himself three fingers of the reddish elixir.

"Yes, Sir," I reply.

"You don't need to call me Sir all the time, Ms. McGonagall," he says, filling my glass, "this game we're playing is fun but very intense," he explains, "there are moments when we can relax, as long as you don't forget your manners and duties."

"But the first rule says..." I mutter, not willing to fall into any trap that can give him an excuse to punish me, not that I would care.

"We have our own agreement now, Ms. McGonagall, we can rewrite the rules," he says.

"That sounds good," I say in understanding, "Severus?"

"That's alright," he says, agreeing to me using his first name, and the silence surrounds us again but, this time, it's a comfortable one.

When we are finished he instructs me to wait for him in his bedroom, fully naked, standing at the feet of his four posted bed, facing the wall; and as I abandon the sitting room, I see him taking the dishes to the sink.

* * *

Still wet from before, the waiting arouses me even more. Finally, I hear his steps coming, and the door opening. He walks toward me and corrects my position, it seems something he enjoys doing and I wonder if it's just another way to reassure his power over me. His hands are cold from washing the dishes and his touch makes me shiver as he slightly separates my legs and makes me fold my arms behind my back.

"Ms. McGonagall," he says with a strong calmed voice, "it's time for your punishment."

"Punishment, Sir?," I ask, not moving an inch.

"Yes, that's what I said," he replies.

"May I ask the reason of this punishment, Sir?" I wonder.

"You may," he says as he walks away. I hear the door of the closet opening, and then closing again, and I guess that he's gone to take that riding crop of his.

That was bearable, I think as he comes back toward me. I can't see him at my back, but I do hear his steps. My first experience with the riding crop was really good, very sensual, it produces a sharp sudden pain that disappear quickly; and Severus' tongue tracing the marks of his beating afterwards was a great feeling. I'm eager to repeat that.

"You're being punished for being a slut," he says.

My eyes open widely. That's not something a woman likes to be told, not even during the most rough of sex acts.

I turn around, my reply on the tip of my tongue ready to be spat on his face when a sharp noise, followed by a sudden agonizing pain on my ass, silences me.

Before going back to my position, for some stupid reason, thinking this would be enough to avoid having to repeat that, I have a quick glance of Severus holding a cane.

"Were you about to say anything, slut?" he says.

"No, Sir," I reply.

"Good," he moves to a different angle and starts to hit me rhythmically with the cane going up and down the back of my tights, the stick hitting both of them every time, soft enough to bear it without bending my knees, strong enough to feel painful as hell after a long while.

"Would you like to know why you are a slut?" he asks.

"Yes, Sir."

"Because only sluts suck cocks like you did," he says.

"Wasn't it good, Sir?" I dare questioning while making a big effort to hold my tears as he starts working the cane on my ass with less care.

"It was excellent," he points out, "that's why I have reasons to believe that you're a little slut who loves sucking cocks."

"That's not true," I bark and I am replied with not one, neither two, but four hits taken with such angle than I felt my skin tearing apart when the cane touched my bare ass.

"Didn't you enjoy sucking my cock, slut?" he asks.

"I did," I say, beginning to feel it difficult to stay standing up while my juices drip down my tights, making it impossible to believe that I wasn't enjoying this.

How? How can I be enjoying being tortured and humiliated like this? When did I become the masochist I am today?

"Then, you are a slut," he says, "my little dirty slut," and I start to believe he's right, that I am a slut, meaning that I did enjoy sucking his cock just as much as I enjoyed being spanked by his hand four nights ago, or being fucked roughly in my office, even if neither of these experiences was meant to please me, I enjoyed them, I'd repeat them, and therefore, I must be a slut; his dirty little slut.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	11. Saturday

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Saturday**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

When I wake up my skin is still sore and my wrists are handcuffed together to the head board of Severus bed. He's gone and I am wet.

…

When I heard the cane fall to the ground last night, I thought the punishment was over, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

He made me lay down over the sheets on my back, which was torture for my bruises, but bearable while his hands skillfully caressed my entire body, increasing my arousal to the point that, not able to stand the need anymore, I instinctively searched for satisfaction on my hands. It was then when the handcuffs appeared.

He restrained me and kept massaging my body, aware of how hard my nipples were, of the wetness between my legs, of the throbbing of my clitoris. It was sick agony but, at the same time, it was pure pleasure. All I wanted was to release myself, but he wouldn't let me.

"Please, Sir," I said, remembering the time at La Maison, "let me come."

"You want to come?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir, please," I begged with tears on my eyes.

"You want me to fuck you?" his hand stroking my breast as he said that.

"Yes, please, Sir."

"Like if you were a slut?" I don't understand now how I didn't see were this was heading.

"Yes, yes," I repeated impatiently.

"Say it," he says, "say that you are my little dirty slut and I'll let you come."

…

I didn't. I couldn't. I know it's stupid to keep my pride at that point over a stupid word of four letters, but it was all I had.

"Good morning," he startles me, coming back to the room with a tray that smells of white tea and pancakes.

Breakfast in bed, I think, that has to be a good way to start a day, definitely a romantic touch, maybe an apology for the agony he's put me through the night.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks, as he sits next to me, with the tray on his lap, and I turn around, showing him my back, because he knows I haven't, and he knows he's to blame for it.

"I always thought you'd be one of those morning people," he says, and he rests a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, not only making me shiver, but reminding my body of how aroused I still am, "you'll feel better after tasting my pancakes," he says, "I know you like them with honey."

I turn around and gaze at the tray. I'm famished. There's a plate with six perfectly round and piled pancakes covered in shiny and sticky golden honey that smells like heaven. I can play nice for some breakfast, I think, let him untie me and then run away. Merlin knows I thought of it last night, trying to unlock the handcuffs with a couple wandless tricks that, obviously, didn't work. So I sit up, and look expectantly for him to take out his wand and make my chains disappear.

"Good," he says, but he doesn't look for his wand, he begins to feed me.

The first forkful tastes of humiliation, I am glowering at him and, despites he knows exactly how low I'm feeling, he seems not to care. Then, it comes a moment when I start to feel the sensuality of the situation, helpless as I am, bounded to his bed, naked and completely dependent of his hands, while his eyes are fixed on the movement of my lips as I chew. My arouse increases at every bite and sip he takes to my mouth and he notices it.

* * *

.

When we're done he puts the tray away and lets me free. I don't run away. I guess that, as much as I'd like to heck him right now, I really want to know where this is going, because if he's putting so much effort on it, it must be something good.

He makes me lie across the bed, face down, while he applies that healing ointment of his on my bruises. And I have to scratch the sheets and bite them with my teeth to bear the heat and pleasure of his hands, while he reminds me that: "If you want to come, Ms. McGonagall, you know the magic words."

I hate him. At this moment, I really do.

…

Dressed only with my green silk slip, I follow him to his office and he makes me sit on one of the chairs opposite to his.

"I have some work to do for Professor Slughorn," he says, "you can rather take one of my books to read or ask a house elf to bring you your paperwork," he adds, "but I want to see your hands on the desk all the time."

His insinuation makes me blush, but he ignores it and just sits down.

After giving the situation a thought, I decide to call Pearl, the house elf in charge of everything regarding the Gryffindor House and, therefore, the one I trust the most, and ask her to bring me the folder she'll find on top of my desk. Some work might make my arousal go and, if not, at least I will have something to keep my mind occupied for a while.

"Pearl, nobody must learn about this, understood?" I ask her once she's back.

"Yes, Mistress," she says, "Pearl won't tell anyone that Mistress McGonagall lost her clothes in Master Snape's rooms," she adds, and I swear I heard Severus chuckle behind my neck, "It's a secret."

"Yes, Pearl, it's a secret," I reassure her, taking my folder, "you can leave now."

With a pop, the house elf is gone and I turn to my Master Snape.

"Did you find that funny, Sir?" I ask with my sweetest voice.

"Indeed," he replies, and he goes back to his work and I to mine.

* * *

…

* * *

I'm done with my papers to review and sign before he is with whatever Slughorn asked him to do, which gives me a lot of time to think a little clearer.

I glance at the door from the corner of my eye and wonder if anyone could come in right now without knocking, and find me in the apprentice's office wearing only a night slip and nothing else. Of course not, I'm sure that Severus has the proper spells locking the door from intruders, right?

The throbbing between my legs comes back at the thought of being so exposed and I start to play nervously with my hands. I don't want to lose this battle but if I keep being stubborn, he will get tired of me and this, whatever it is, will be over; which I don't want, not so soon; and if I swallow my pride and do as I'm told (which, being a submissive, is what I should do), I will be giving him the victory, but at least I'll get my orgasm.

I sight at the realization that there's no way I can win, there's never been because he knew I would eventually come around, and he'll keep teasing me until I do or I leave.

"Are you alright, Ms. McGonagall?" he asks, raising his eyes from his papers. I open my mouth to reply, but I don't seem to find my voice "is there anything you'd like to say to me?"

"Actually," I say, "there is, Sir."

"Please, do delight my ears," he knows I'm surrendering and he's willing to make me feel as bad as possible with this. If only I had my wand with me.

"I am your dirty little slut," I mutter, with a low voice and very fast.

"What?" he asks, "could you repeat that louder, please, Ms. McGonagall?" a hint of a smirk on his lips that indicates his taking all the pleasure he can.

"I am your dirty little slut, Master," I repeat, louder and clearer.

"Good," I feel relieved at his approval, but when I see him returning to his work, fury and indignation invades me. While trying to kill him with my eyes, I bring my hands under the table, thinking the ban is over, but before I reach the skirt of my slip they are pulled back up by some spell.

"What were you doing?" he asks with a tone of voice that scares me.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I mutter, "I thought..."

"You thought wrong," he says, "if you are to have any orgasm today, it will be on my hands."

I want to reply but, probably seeing that I'm about to get in more trouble, he interrupts me.

"Are you hungry, Ms. McGonagall?"

* * *

He makes pasta for lunch and, probably it's because of my current mental state (which is anything but rational), but I find it very sexy and arousing to watch him move around the kitchen.

We eat in a distressing silence that he breaks to suggests a game of chess, and I accept.

I have never found it so hard to stay concentrated; I make so many random movements that when I finally say "Checkmate," I know that it was only a matter of luck rather than skill.

"Shall we play a little more?" he says, and I am placing the pieces back to the board when he stops me, "not chess, Ms. McGonagall."

He stands from the armchair and walks around the sofa to stand behind me. I feel a soft cloth in front of my eyes and suddenly, I'm blinded and his lips are on my neck. As soon as he touches I moan, my body betraying my pride.

His hands massage my shoulders, tickle my arms, stroke my breasts through the thin fabric of my slip and then he stops.

He's standing in front of me now, and I hear a zip and the sound of clothes falling to the ground. I notice his weight unbalancing the sofa and then his hand grabs me by the hair and pulls me down. Strangely and uncomfortably twisted on the couch, I feel the tip of his cock on my lips and I beggin to suck.

"Keep your hands on your back," he instructs as I fill my mouth with him and the throbbing comes back to my clit.

When I can feel his erection growing, he pulls me up rudely.

"You can now climb up on me," he says, and I don't wait a minute. I sit astride on his lap, my hands still entwined behind my back, as I impale myself with his cock. The feeling is overwhelming, after so much waiting, I have anything but patience, but he is pure evil, "slowly, my little dirty slut," he says.

His words infuriate me, and even he can't see the glare in my eyes, I'm sure he can notice the tention on my lips. I slow my pace, and feel his hands under my slip, feeling every inch of my skin while I lose control of my breathing, of my mind, of my body.

When I can't hold it anymore, I increase the rythm of my movement with fear of him asking to slow down again, but he doesn't, so I go faster and faster, and at some point I explode around him, and he comes inside me, and then it's all pleasure, and relief, and tiredness, and I rest exhausted on his chest, his arms around my body, holding me close.

I don't hate him anymore.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	12. Sunday

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the delay, but I am in the middle of exams and had to leave writing aside for a couple days. I know this is also shorter than the other chapters, but I felt it was enough for Severus POV, and I really want to go on with the story.

Enjoy!

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Sunday**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

It's six on the morning when I wake up and notice I'm alone in bed. Minerva is gone and a strange feeling invades my stomach as I turn around under the sheets and sink my head in the pillows. I wonder what might have pushed her to leave earlier, what I have done wrong. I was gentle, I tried not to push her too far, not to cross a line, not to scare her too early, that's why I wanted her to feel relaxed, to know this was a game after all, that I was still Severus, and she was still Minerva and she shouldn't fear me; and I liked having her on my arms, yesterday, shaking, tearful, exhausted, fragile, broken, mine.

I sit up on the bed and breathe, trying to figure out what went wrong, when I notice her clothes are still on the armchair. She's not gone.

* * *

.

She's in the kitchen, cooking, wearing that beautiful silk slip that she brought with her, which only covers half her tights. I feel so relief that she's still here that I push aside my desire to bend her over and spank her ass for leaving the bed without permission. I walk towards her silently and she's startled by my sudden touch, but I don't let her turn around, I place my arms one at each side, trapping her between me and the counter.

"Good morning," I say, placing a soft kiss on the back of her neck.

"Good morning," she replies, and I can't see her face but I feel a smile on her voice.

"What's this?" I ask, looking at the pan she's trying to manage despite me making it more difficult.

"Scrambled eggs," she replies.

"Scrambled eggs don't look like that," I point out, teasing her, but not lying because they are overcooked and even a little burned.

"Cooking is not the best of my skills," she admits.

"Definitely," I agree.

"I just wanted to bring you breakfast to bed," she says, taking the pan out of the fire and somehow, managing to turn around on the little space she has, "like you did yesterday."

"You don't need to do that," I say, "but thank you."

A deep silence surrounds us for a long moment while we're standing close enough to feel each other's heartbeats. Her long hair falls freely on her shoulders, her green eyes sparkle in a way they didn't yesterday, and her thin pink lips seem to be craving for a kiss.

I take her hands and draw her to the center of the room.

"Bend over," I say.

"What?"

"Bend over," I repeat, "with your hands around your knees."

She looks at me, understanding we're back to our game, and does as I say. With her body curved, her slip shows her ass, and I stroke it as I explain what is going to happen.

"I'm going to smack you twenty times, to amuse myself," I say, "you're going to count out loud, and thank me each time, and that is all I want to hear, understood?"

"Yes," she says, completely forgetting about her manners, and I bend down and grab her hair to make her look at me

"Understood?" I ask again.

"Yes, Sir," she says, and I stand up, walk to the counter, grab the wooden spoon and come back.

* * *

.

"One," she yells after the loud sound of the wood hitting her skin, "thank you, Sir," she adds, before the second smack and we go on, until the eleventh hit, when she forgets to thank me, so I add twenty more to the punishment.

"Stand up," I command when we're done, and she does so. Her eyes are tearful but she's not crying. She looks at me with a mixture of rage and fear that fail to hide her lust and adrenaline. I run the spoon through the line of her cunt and take it to her lips.

"Taste it," I say, and she grimaces, but then she opens her mouth and takes the spoon in, savoring her own juices, "this is proof of how much you enjoyed it, so I don't you weeping," I say, "now, go sit on the table."

* * *

.

I go back to the kitchen counter, wash the spoon and finish making breakfast. I come back to the table with the scramble eggs she made, some toasts with butter and tea. She is sitting still on her chair, bearing her sore ass on the wooden seat.

"Are you alright?" I ask, although I know her answer would be the same even if she wasn't.

"I am, Sir," she says.

"Good," I say, and we're back to this silence that has surrounded us during meals this past day and a half, and I try to break it, "How does a single woman survive without cooking skills?"

She raises her eyes from her plate; I guess that analyzing my tone, my eyes, before speaking.

"House elves," she says.

"I mean, when you're not in the school," I clarify, "I bet Dumbledore would love having you at his service the entire year, but you do get holidays, don't you?"

She glares at me and I'm amused by it.

"Of course I do," she replies, "but William cooks for me while I'm home."

William? I repeat in my mind. Her brother? A boyfriend?

"Who is William?" I ask, trying not to sound too interested.

"My family's house elf," she explains.

"Who calls a house elf, William?" I question.

"Someone who doesn't see them like pets," she says, in a defensive tone.

"I thought you had to be high society to own a house elf," I point out.

"I don't own him," she scowls me, "William has been in my family since I was a kid and when my parents past away I couldn't sent him free, so I told him he could stay with me and watch the house while I was away."

"I see," I mutter, for some reason, glad that this William is only a house elf.

"What about you?" she asks.

"What about me?" I reply.

"I told you something about me," she says, "it's only fair that you tell me something about you."

Her voice is playful, her lips are almost smiling and her eyes are sparkling; I know there's no malice in her question, maybe a little curiosity but she's mainly trying to be nice; but even with all this, I am not going to tell her about my lonely family home, about the bad memories it still holds for me, or about anything else previous to the night we met at La Maison.

"I will decide what is or is not fair, Ms. McGonagall," I say, with a stern look and standing up, making it clear that we're back to our game, "now, go to the bedroom and wait for me on all fours facing the door."

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	13. Black laced knickers

**A/N:** I'm back! ^_^ I'm done with my exams, which went great (thanks for the good luck wishes), and after a week of complete relax and procrastination, I'm back to FanFiction:-)

Just in case you forgot, this is an M rate ff, with D/s - BDSM content

Enjoy!

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Chapter 13**

**.**

**Black laced knickers**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

I feel renewed, reborn like a phoenix, as I'm getting ready to start the week on Monday morning; and while I try to decide between my white cotton knickers and my black lace ones, I wonder how long this wave of joy will last.

.

"Good morning," I greet Pomona as I take my seat between the empty chair of the Headmaster and her.

"Good morning," Pomona replies, "Now, don't you look different today!" she says with her never fading smile.

"I had a good weekend," I state, since this is going to be the only piece of information coming out of me.

"Did you? The girls and I went window shopping and wanted you to come, but you were nowhere to be found," she says.

"You know I don't get the meaning of going around shops without the purpose of buying anything," I reply, as I pour myself some tea, trying to drive her attention off my whereabouts during the past couple days.

"We did had some purpose, you know," she replies with the mischievous tone of a child hiding something, and I leave my cup on the table and look at her so she knows I'm listening, "I went to try on my wedding dress," she says, and I guess she notices my gasp, "You haven't forgot about the wedding have you?"

"Of course not," I lie, hiding my shameful face behind my tea.

"Would you like to see the dress?" she asks enthusiastically.

"I'd love to," I say, and I soon regret it.

"Good," she smiles, "the girls are coming for tea after class, why don't you join us?"

"Pom, I'd love to, but..." I begin, but she interrupts me.

"No excuses," she says, "everybody has a lot of work to do around here and yet we all find time to enjoy ourselves except for you, Minerva," she places her hand on top of mine, "you didn't die in the war," she says, and before I can even build a reply, a majestic white owl flies across the room and sits in front of me.

.

I know who it belongs to, and the only presence of it makes me sick. There's only two reasons why my aunt would owl me and, since it's not my birthday or any special holiday, and I can see Dumbledore coming into the Great Hall, meaning that he's not unreachable, I begin to worry that maybe something has happened to her or uncle Vincent.

After rewarding the bird with a bite of my morning toast and watching it fly away, I open the letter:

.

_Dear Minerva,_

_We would like to invite you for tea this Friday. We'll be expecting you at five o'clock. Be punctual and dress formal._

_Love you,_

_Vincent and Millicent. _

.

"Good Morning," the voice of the Headmaster pulls me away from the parchment on my hands.

"Good morning, Albus," I say, tuning around to face him and, on the way, spotting Severus only a few chairs further, having his breakfast in silence.

"Is everything alright?" Dumbledore asks, staring at the opened envelop near my half-empty cup of tea.

"It seems so, but," I mutter, and then it comes to my mind that he met my aunt more recently than I. "Albus," I say, "by any chance, you wouldn't know why Millicent would invite me over in the middle of the school year, would you?"

"Well, she seemed worried about you the last time I saw her," he says.

"How come?" I wonder.

"She asked me how you were doing and I told her that you were fine, regardless of a lack of social life and any interest of having fun," he answers, as a matter-of-factly and I have to keep my temper not to take my hands to his neck.

"When people asks how someone is doing they are usually being polite, not expecting a full report," I say, probably sounding less nice than I wished.

"But she's family," he estates, as if that solved everything and I reach the top of my patience.

I let go a sigh and excuse myself to leave. As I walk across the table, I feel Severus eyes on my back, but I don't turn around. My wave of joy is gone.

* * *

…

* * *

Mondays are usually stressful enough without the trouble of replying an invitation for a tea party that I don't want to attend. But I can't give an excuse to my aunt, if I lie, she'd learn the truth some way or another and she'd get mad at me, so I end up writing a couple lines telling her that it will be a pleasure to see her so soon and that I will not forget the time. Luckily, I still have my date with Severus to look forwards for Friday; which reminds me about Pomona's wedding.

She's getting married in April, and I should remember to tell Severus because I'll be gone for an entire weekend. I still can't believe I forgot about it! She's been with Hans for ages; they were going to get married before the war, but he was called of duty to help the aurors and they adjourned it. They never imagined it would last ten years.

…

A knock at the door of my empty classroom while I'm cleaning the blackboard drags me away from my thoughts. I turn around, expecting to find a student coming to pick up something he forgot, only to find Severus standing at the end of the row of desks.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, professor," he apologizes as he crosses the classroom.

"Don't worry, Mr. Snape," I mutter, putting the board rubber down, "I am done with my classes anyway."

It is weird being so formal with him all of a sudden, I know it's what we agreed but, it feels as if the weekend was an illusion; especially when that feeling of the morning disappeared so soon.

"What can I do for you?" I ask, sitting back on my desk and looking up at him, standing a few feet further.

"Professor Slughorn sent me to tell you he needs to cancel his classes for Thursday morning," he explains and he hands me the formal application we use in this cases filled with Horace' handwriting, "apparently he has some kind of medical appointment."

"Nothing serious, I hope," I say as I take the parchment.

"I wouldn't know," he replies, and I laugh silently at his lack of interest.

"Well, I don't think there'll be any problem," I open one of my drawers and take out the timetables folder to check which classes will be canceled, "Fourth and seventh years," I sight, thinking aloud, "Horace must be out of his mind, this kids have exams in a couple months, they can't be losing classes so easily," and then I remember I'm not alone, "sorry," I say, glancing at Severus for a moment, and silence surrounds us.

"It's alright," I hear him mutter as I go back to the form and sign it reluctantly, "you seem stressed," he points out, "left the Great Hall in a hurry both for breakfast and lunch," he adds, "I hope it's not because of this weekend."

"Oh, Gods, no," I say, standing up to hand him the paper, "I think that's actually the only thing that is helping me keep together this damn Monday," I force a smile on my lips and before I can even realize, he's standing right in front of me, close enough to feel his breath on my chin, and I am stupidly still holding the damn form on my hands.

"Then, maybe I can help," he says, taking the parchment and leaving it on the desk, "take off your knickers, Ms. McGonagall."

His tone is changed, even his look is different than a few seconds before and I wonder if he has some kind of switch he can press to change form normal Snape to Master Snape with such facility.

"Severus, this is my classroom," I whisper, I don't know why, because nobody can hear us, "somebody could walk by."

Without saying a word, he turns around and shuts the door with his wand, then turns back to me.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" he asks, with that voice that makes me melt down and, without giving it anymore thought, I begin to pull my knickers down my tights.

…

Ten minutes later I am being fucked on my desk, my ass throbbing after a light spanking, my hands magically pinned above my head and my black laced knickers gagging my mouth with the taste of my own juices.

Suddenly, as if I'd been stunned by an obliviate spell, I forget about my aunt's mysterious tea party, Albus lack of personal boundaries, Pomona's wedding and my meeting with her and the girls in a few minutes.

…

Slowly, he empties my mouth after we're done and, before I can even build something to say in my mind, his lips assault me and, closing my eyes, I am back to La Maison, tied up to the bed, blindfolded and kissed by that stranger that resulted to be Severus Snape; and I realize we hadn't kissed since then.

"If you don't mind," he talks, as I grasp for air after he pulls apart, "I'll keep them 'till Friday," he grins, showing me my wet knickers on his hand, and I don't find a voice to reply. He keeps them in his pockets, grabs the signed form for Slughorn and leaves.

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	14. Just tea

**A/N:** This part was meant to be one piece with the previous chapter, but after my break of almost one month I didn't seem to find my inspiration and everything I came up with seemed to just suck… so I ended up adding that Min-Sev scene in her classroom and all my problems were solved magically… I hope you don't judge me after this confession :-P

Anyway, this is more about Minerva and her friends and her family… I hope you like it.

ENJOY ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Chapter 14**

**.**

**Just tea**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

* * *

"You came!" Pomona exclaims overexcited after opening the door of her private rooms to me, "I am so glad," she adds as I follow her through her messy office and into the sitting room of her studio, "Girls, look who came," she announces to Poppy and Rolanda, who are sitting on the sofa, chatting.

"I thought you were too busy for your friends," Rolanda snaps, and Poppy quickly scowls at her, but I don't mind. Hooch is that kind of person unable to shut up or keep something to herself, she has an internal need to say whatever she thinks no matter what, and that's what I like the most about her.

"I managed to make some time," I reply as I sit down on the empty armchair.

"And we're happy for that," Pomona interrupts, "how about some tea?"

"Tea?" Rolanda asks, "we must celebrate that Minerva has come back from the dead," she says, "the occasion deserves opening one of your husband's firewhiskey bottles, at least."

"He's my husband-to-be," Pomona points out, "and I invited Minerva for tea, not for drinks."

"The firewhiskey sounds good to me," I say, and our host walks to the kitchen.

"That's my girl," Rolanda says, standing up and sitting on the left arm of my chair, with her legs crossed and her arm on the back.

Having her so close, I grow more aware of my lack of underwear and I blush, as if she could see through the fabrics of my long skirt.

I still can't believe Severus took my knickers with him and I said nothing. I know I could have gone to my rooms to pick some cleans ones, I was already being late, so what did it matter?, but then I reminded myself that there's no fun on playing a game if you cheat, so I followed the rules and here I am, sharing a fine glass of firewhiskey with my friends, wearing no knickers.

...

"Minerva, you really look gorgeous today," Poppy says all of a sudden after having a second sip to her glass, "you should tell me your secret."

"It's no secret, Pops," Rolanda says, still sharing the armchair with me, "all you need is a good shagging."

I almost choke on my drink. Does she know something?"

"Wha-?" I mutter.

"Oh, please," she says, "when I saw you on Friday you said you were going to Moody's, and then you disappeared for the entire weekend," she explains, "I can do the maths."

"Min, are you two back together?" Poppy asks, and I leave my glass on the tea table before I make a mess.

"Of course not," I answer.

"You were such a cute couple…" she points out.

"We were never a couple," I remind her, "we were just friends and that's what we still are."

"Well, then there's someone else…" Rolanda suggests and I scowl at her like if I wanted to make her explode.

"There is no man in my life," I say, "I spent the weekend doing paperwork between my office and the library," I lie, very convincing and proud of my quick thinking.

"Your life is just so exciting, my dear," she replies, with such a sad tone that my pride disappears instantly, because this is what I would usually do on weekends.

"Pom, let's see your dress," I try to drive the attention away from me, and it luckily works.

"Alright, but remember that my transfiguration skills are not as good as yours," she says, standing up and walking a few steps further, "I'm picking it up next week, "she adds, and after a deep breath, she takes out her wand and her clothes begin to transform into a beautiful white gown… she looks like a princess.

I met Pomona during my second year teaching at Hogwarts. She was the new one and since we were the younger in the staff, we quickly became friends. We could not be any more different, she is everything that I am not, and I adore her for that.

"The real one has a beautiful lace pattern around the waist and the skirt has pearls and…" she explains in an apologetic tone.

"It's really beautiful," I say, "you look gorgeous, Pomona," I add, smiling, unable to take my eyes away from her, "I am so glad that you and Hans can finally do this."

"You've waited a long time," Poppy points out.

"It's not like they've been wasting it," Rolanda brings us back to reality and Pomona transfigures her clothes back.

"That's true," she says, "but it will feel good to finally be her wife for real."

.

It had been a long time since the last time I had joined the girls for tea or anything and, I must admit that I'd missed them, which sounds ridiculous because we live and work under the same roof most of the time, but… you'd be surprised of how easy it is to grow apart from the people you are closer from.

Thankfully, they are good friends, and have never ceases to insist on trying. Maybe I did die metaphorically and have come back from the dead, maybe I just needed more time than the rest to mourn the war (although I still think it's too soon), maybe Severus has helped me reborn in more ways than I can actually see.

* * *

…

* * *

On Tuesday I wake up with an epiphany.

…

"I don't know," Dumbledore says pacing around his office; it puts me to my nerves when he does this.

"You are the one who brought him to the school," I say, following his steps with my eyes.

"And you are the one who didn't like the idea," he replies.

"That's why I think we should give him this chance," I insist, "this way, we'll be able to see if he's really suitable for the job."

"Horace won't approve," the Headmaster points out.

"The hell with Horace," I yell, probably out of excitement, "I became crazy planning everybody's timetables in order that he could have a free morning on Wednesdays for his medical issues, and yet, he takes an appointment on a Thursday, knowing that he has class with the seventh years, who have their exams in a few months."

"I guess you're right," Albus admits.

"Does this mean you agree?" I ask.

"Only if I don't have to tell him," he says.

"Don't worry about that," I answer, happily leaving his office.

…

Over the night I have realized that it has no sense to cancel any potions class because of Horace absence, when we have a potioneer apprentice preparing to do his job next year.

I knew Albus would be easy to convince and that Horace will hate the idea, what I don't know is what Severus will think of it, that's why I am hoping to see him in Slughorn's office when I go down to the dungeons, but he's not there.

…

"You're trying to sack me before time, don't you?" Horace says after I tell him that I won't cancel his classes.

"Horace, that's not true, and you know it," I say, "all I want is for the kids not to lose a class and for your apprentice to have a taste on teaching before having the entire responsibility of being professor once you're gone."

"What if there's an incident?" he asks, "this is not one of your hokus pokus wandy classes," he smacks, and I swear I have to hold myself together not to show him some of my hokus pokus on his face, "we deal with really dangerous stuff in the dungeons."

"He'll teach the classes following your instructions," I say, breathing deep, trying to hide my desire to heck him right here, "and since you're such an excellent professor, I'm sure you'll be able to leave no chance for incidents."

"I liked you more during your student years," he says, "you were less insufferable and more willing to please."

"Yes, well, those years are gone and now I am your superior and you are going to do as I say so, Professor Slughorn," I conclude, "have a nice day," and then I leave.

* * *

…

* * *

During the rest of the week I have no chance to meet Severus alone, if I didn't know better, I would say he's avoiding me, but the truth is I am pretty busy myself.

The fact that the school is still in one piece on Thursday afternoon and that I have no reports regarding Mr. Snape on Friday Morning is enough for me to believe that his classes weren't the disaster that Horace predicted.

* * *

After having lunch I go to my rooms to get changed and take my old broom to fly to Hogsmeade so I can disapparate without problems. I am not willing to cross the school grounds by foot wearing heels, specially a pair that cost me a fortune.

…

Aunt Millie and Uncle Vincent live in a beautiful town house in the center of London in a street mainly occupied by high society wizards, most of them linked to the Ministry in some way. That is why the area is always watched by aurors dressed like muggles, one of whom stops me as soon as I stop in front of the Bagnold's house.

"Name," a big man with a stern look says, standing only a few inches in front of me, forcing me to raise my eyes to look back at him.

"Some manners wouldn't hard, young man," I snap, and he steps back.

"I'm sorry ma'am," he says.

"You should be, when I was in training they taught us to be respectful all the time," I add, "I am Minerva McGonagall, I'm sure that Minister Bagnold has informed you of my visit."

"Indeed, ma'am," he says and I watch him walk away before knocking the door.

…

A house elf dressed like an old fashioned butler opens the door.

"Good afternoon Miss. McGonagall," he greets me.

"Good afternoon Earl," I reply, "I know the way, you can go back to your duties," I command, and he pops away.

I walk to the library on my own and knock the double door before coming in.

"Minerva, my dear," Mr. Bagnold stands up from his armchair, with his cigar on his hand, and the clock strikes five, "as punctual as ever," he adds with a smile and we hug.

"Well, Aunt Millie was very clear that I shouldn't be late," I say, "where is she, by the way?"

"She's attending a last minute fire call in the office, I think, she'll join us in a minute," he says, "sit down, please," he adds, and I sit on the sofa while he goes to the bar and comes back with two glasses of firewhisky.

"Thank you," I say, knitting my eyebrows.

"Don't thank me," he sits down on his armchair and has a sip of his drink, "you'll need it, my dear," and before I can ask, the doors are opened again, and Millicent walks in with some man I don't know.

"Vince, what did I tell you about drinking before tea time?" she scowls her husband and then looks at me, "Nerva, I didn't know you were here already," she says, and I stand up to hug her.

"You said five o'clock," I remind her.

"That's right, dear," she turns to her companion, "this is Mr. Goodman," she says, "he's the new ambassador from the American Ministry," she explains, "Mr. Goodman, this is my niece."

I look at the man standing next to her: tall, blond hair, blue eyes, serious expression and wearing a very elegant muggle suite. He steps closer and shakes my hand.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss. McGonagall," he says, and I wonder how he knows my name, "your aunt has told me a lot about you during these past weeks."

"Has she?" I wonder, suddenly realizing this is not a simple tea party, this is a damn set up blind date. I turn around for a moment, look at uncle Vincent, and take my glass from the tea table. I empty it down my throat on one sip and then go back to Millicent.

"Could we have a word in private, please?" I ask her.

"But we're about to have tea," she says.

"It will only be a moment," I insist, with a silly smile on my lips trying to hold my temper in place.

"Alright."

I follow her outside of the room and we leave the men alone.

* * *

"What do you think of Jerald?" she asks, as soon as we're alone.

"What?"

"Mr. Goodman, do you like him?"

"This is unbelievable!" I yell, "I was hoping to be wrong, but this is really a blind date, isn't it?!" I don't let her reply, "I am not sixteen anymore, Millie."

"I know, my dear," she says, "you are over forty, still alone, and according to Albus, lacking of any kind of social life other than that Moody," she speaks as if reading an official report.

"That Moody is a really good friend," I say, "and a very brave auror."

"I know, but what I mean is that you have no…"

"No what? No future husband around?" I say, "I have no interest in getting married, I am happy as I am."

"Just give him a chance," she insists, "your mother would have loved him."

There they are, the magical words. Whenever Millicent is trying to convince me of anything, she knows that as soon as mother is mentioned, I will stop arguing, so, I give up.

"I'll stay for tea," I say, "just tea," I remark, and we go back in.

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	15. The Dark Mark

A/N: This is one of those parts that really honour the title of the story, so I hope you all like it ^_^ Next chapter will be up soon!

ENJOY!

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**The Dark Mark**

**.**

**By Saeshmea**

* * *

She's late. It's ten minutes past nine and she's not here yet, so she's late. Maybe she's not coming, maybe she's had second thoughts this time, maybe she didn't like me taking her knickers, but it was so tempting... I have them cleaned and folded on my desk so she sees them when she comes in, if she does, because it's almost a quarter past, and she's not here yet.

I'm making some mignonette sauce for the oysters we're having for dinner. I even bought a French bottle of champagne, but I am probably just making a fool of myself, because there'll be no dinner, because it's a quarter past and she won't come.

Suddenly, someone knocks the door. She's here. She came. She's late.

"I'm so sorry," she says as soon as I let her in, "my aunt invited me for tea, and time went by and…" I silence her with the clean lace knickers that were on my desk. I don't want to hear any story, not now.

"Your wand," I say.

I like how docile she looks with her mouth gagged, staring at me as she hands me her wand, probably wondering if I am mad for her delay.

I am not mad. How could I be? She's here, that's what matters, but she's been late, and if I let it go without consequences the next time it won't be just fifteen minutes. No, I am not mad, but I am certainly going to make the most fun of the situation.

I keep her wand in the top drawer of my desk and then I go back to her. I take off her tartan cloak and hang it behind the door. She's wearing a beautiful green long cocktail dress with a tartan pattern around the waist. I unzip it and let it fall on the floor around her feet.

Once she's standing only on her underwear in front of me, I take her hands to her back and tie them up with a black rope I conjure.

She's beautiful. Her body is like the sculpture of some goddess, and I wish to fuck her right here. But no, it's not time for that yet.

Grasping her hair, messing her bun, I make her follow me into the studio and make her stand in front of the fireplace. I correct her posture, so her legs are slightly separated and her back is completely still and then I step between her and the fire to explain her what is going to happen.

"You were late and you will be punished," I say, and her eyes don't blink, "but this time you will tell me what punishment you think you deserve. If I like it, fine; if I don't, you will be banned from having an orgasm again, but this time, until next weekend," I explain, and now I can see a hint of fear darkening her emerald eyes, "I'm going to finish dinner now, and you will stay here thinking of your punishment," I add, and then I leave her.

Dinner is ready, but she doesn't know, she hasn't even noticed that the table is set, so I sit on the sofa silently, and contemplate the beautiful curves of her back until I think it's been enough time.

Taking her by her upper arm, I walk Minerva to the table and make her sit down. I don't untie her, but I do take the gag off.

"I hope you like oysters," I say taking one, spreading some mignonette sauce on it and approaching it to her lips.

"Please, untie me," she says, almost begging, and I smile.

"No," I answer, and I make the oyster fall into her mouth, and watch her chew it slowly before eating one myself.

Feeding her is fun, she resists very little, her eyes seem to be striking at me all the time, but her cheeks blush every time I take something to her mouth. I love the power it gives me too, I decide rather she has a bite or not, rather she drinks or she doesn't; and I like to please her at some moments giving her what she wants, and teasing her on others, forcing her to have a sip of champagne when she doesn't want more, or having one more oyster, when she says she's had enough.

"Did you think about your punishment?" I ask when the plates are empty.

"Yes," she replies with a small voice.

"Tell me," I say, emptying what's left on my glass on one sip.

"I was fifteen minutes late, so you get to spank me five times for every minute, that is, seventy-five smacks," she says, and it amuses me that she's been so mathematical over it.

"That doesn't sound too challenging," I say, and I let her worry about the possibility of ending up with no orgasms for the entire week, "I'll have to make some modifications to that," I add, and I see her relieve, and then her worry grow up again, wondering what is going to happen exactly, but she says nothing. "Let's go to the bedroom," I say, and I know she's following me because her heels sound loudly behind me.

…

I untie her hands, make her take her underclothes and shoes off and make her lay down on the bed.

"Spread your legs," I command, "you will slap your clit seventy-five times, I want to hear every hit loudly, and I want you to count them aloud," I explain, "you can begin."

At first she seems to hesitate, probably because she's never done such thing, maybe wondering if she'll be able to do it; but then she begins, she takes a more comfortable position, spreads her legs a little more, raises her hand, and slaps her cunt with the palm of her hand closed.

"One," she says. She seems surprised that it didn't hurt, but she soon realized it's not a matter of strength but of continuation, and around number twenty her voice shakes, and she begins to get wet.

I watch her from a chair at the right side of the bed while my erection grows, and when she reaches seventy-five, I stand up, take off my trousers and my plain black boxers and fuck her rough. She comes as soon as I enter her, and she comes again when I do. When we're done, she's so tired that she falls asleep almost instantly. I cover her with a blanket and go back to the living room to wash the dishes.

I know it's the house elves job, but when I eat in my rooms I like doing it by myself. It helps me feel like if I wasn't in this castle for a while, it also helps me relax.

* * *

On the morning I wake up early to make breakfast, but Minerva comes to the sitting room before I have time to put everything on the tray.

"Dinner was delicious last night," she says as we sit down, "but oysters seemed a little over budget for a professor assistant".

"Well, it's not like we're going to have them every weekend," I reply, and she hides her smile behind her cup of tea.

"I'm sorry I was late," she adds.

"You don't need to apologize," I say, "family is important."

"Thank you," she smiles, this time showing it, and I like it. "How was teaching for the first time, by the way?" she suddenly asks.

"How do you know?" I wonder.

"I am the Deputy Headmistress," she says, "I know almost everything that goes on in this school."

"It was fine," I reply.

"Just fine?" she questions.

"I'd never pictured myself teaching a bunch of teenagers, but the truth is it felt good to have their respect and be expected to have all the answers," I explain, "I actually enjoyed it."

"Good," she says, satisfied.

.

When Slughorn told me I would be teaching his Thursday classes I suspected it was Dumbledore's doing. He left me very specific instructions which I studied very carefully. I knew he had prepared very basic stuff to make sure nothing went wrong, but I didn't care, I was determined to show him and the Headmaster that I could be as good as him, even better, not because I have any interest on becoming professor the next year, but because I am tired of everybody thinking I am not good for the job.

I thought that pretending to be a teacher for a couple hours would be torturous, but it resulted to be good. Teaching gives you power over the students, they trust you blindly because they believe you're smarter, wiser… or maybe because they've heard the rumours about me being a former Death Eater. Either way, they follow every instruction you give them, and they trust your judgement without arguing. It requires a great strength to make a responsible use of such power, and I liked that challenge.

* * *

After breakfast I suggest a shower, and since Minerva is already naked, I make her kneel down in the tub with her eyes closed while I get undressed.

"You're not allowed to open them," I say.

The water falls over us like a spring rain while she makes my erection grow in her mouth. Merlin, she's so good at this! When I feel I won't take it any more, I make her stop and stand up. I want to fuck her against the wall, but first I wash her back, and her hair, her beautiful ebony hair that she always hides in that tight bun.

Then, I pull her against the cold wall of the shower, and reminding her to keep her eyes closed, I restrain her with my arms and enter her body. Her skin is soft, wet and shiny; her moans are almost musical, soothing. It doesn't take long for me to cum, and I finish massaging her with my fingers until she reaches her orgasm. It is then when she forgets my instructions, and she opens her eyes, and she sees it, what I've been trying to hide from her all this time: the Dark Mark.

I quickly try to hide my arm, I don't want her to look at it, it's a shameful reminder of what I've been, and I don't want her to see it as what I am. But she doesn't let me, she takes my hand and pulls my arm closer, caressing the black tattoo with the tips of her fingers as the water keeps falling over us.

I look at her, trying to read her thoughts, but I can't.

Then, she looks at me, still holding my arm, and the pressure from her fingers increases, almost hurts, but I don't stop her, because I fear that if I do, she'll leave, and I don't want that.

Suddenly, she does the unexpected; she kisses it, my arm, my skin, the dark mark. She kisses it, and bites it, and caresses it, and kisses it again… as if she was trying to erase it. And then her kisses move to my upper arm, and my neck, and my lips… and I kiss her back, and we say nothing, we just fuck.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	16. Questions

**A/N:** I had this chapter in my mind for so long that I couldn't be happier to have finally written it down and share it with you ^_^

I know there are more readers of the story than reviewers, so I just wanted to tell the** silent-followers** of this story that I hope they are enjoying it so far and that they can tell me any suggestions or critics or whatever they want through PM or e-mail if they wish.

That said, to my last **Guest-reviewer**, you (and anyone) are more than welcomed to point out my grammar and spelling mistakes as long as it's done with respect, which you obviously did. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I am very grateful for that note on "sit at/on", I am very conscious of my troubles with prepositions, I find them very tricky, so I really appreciate it when people correct me about them, although I can't promise I won't make the same mistake again, I'll try. / "Tights" and "thighs" are a completely different story, sometimes I just think I know the spelling for a word, so I don't check it… so thank you for that correction. That I do promise won't happen again.

So, really, if anyone notices I repeat a mistake over and over again, feel free to point it out, you'll be helping me improve my writing, and you for the next piece of writing you read from me ;-)

Now, to** the story**: this part just follows the previous, so we're still on the Saturday of their second weekend after the agreement and it's around February… just so you have a little peek from my notes.

Enjoy ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Questions**

**.**

**By Saeshmea**

**.**

* * *

When I see the dark mark on Severus' arm I froze. Somehow, when I'm with him, I forget about what he's been, it doesn't matter, he's just Severus, my master; but seeing that stain on his skin is a good reminder of that dark past of him I know nothing about. I am submitting myself to a man who was a Death Eater, someone who probably killed, who tortured… Suddenly I am tempted to run away, but when I raise my eyes and look at him I see fear. He seems more afraid of me than I am of him, why? And then I understand… he fears I might leave, so I don't.

It's not pity, what makes me stay; maybe it's respect… I don't know, I don't even think I could really explain why I don't leave, all I know is that for some reason I want to trust him, but for the first time I realize that to do that I need, I must, to know more about his past.

...

After the shower Severus says he has some work to do in his office and this time he lets me stay in the sitting room to do mine. I call Pearl.

"I left a folder and a book on my office, on top of the desk, could you please bring it to me?" I ask the Gryffindor house elf.

"Yes, Mistress," she says, "would Mistress McGonagall like Pearl to bring some clothes for her as well?" she adds, and I sight, trying not to get upset because I need her to keep the secret of my encounters with Severus.

"No, Pearl, but I would like you to still keep this a secret, alright?"

"Yes, Mistress," and then she pops away.

...

I have little paper work left this week, that's why I made Pearl bring me something to read as well, but sitting on the sofa, near the fire, on my slip and underwear, I don't seem to concentrate on my book.

I'd seen that mark over so many houses during the war, houses of friends, of innocent people, all tortured or dead. The thought that Severus could be responsible for any of that, that I might have fucked the murderer of a friend, makes me feel sick. I need to know, I need answers, and I need them now.

* * *

I knock the door of the office, wait, and then he invites me in.

"Is there anything wrong?" he wonders from behind his desk.

"Can we talk?" I ask.

"Please," he says and he puts his papers away and gestures me to sit down, and I do, but I remain in speechless. "So?" he breaks our silence.

"I'd like," I begin, "I…" and I realize I am just babbling, "you know everything about me," I say, "but I still know nothing about you," I add, and before I can build my next sentence, he interrupts me.

"Is this about my dark mark?" he asks.

"Mainly," I reply, "but I just feel that," I mutter, "I would just like to… to know something more about you," I say.

"Why?"

"Because," I just answer, but then I add, "Don't I have some right to know about the man I let fuck me every weekend?"

"I am not the-man-you-let-fuck-you-every-weekend, Ms. McGonagall," he speaks with that tone of voice he adopts every time he wants to overpower me, "I am your Master," he says, "and if I need to remind you that maybe you should go, this way you won't need to know anything about me."

Now I feel both sorry and angry. I feel sorry for talking about him like that and forgetting our roll game for a moment, but I feel angry he's using that against me to avoid giving me the answers I want. In fact, I am so upset right now that I really want to leave.

"Alright," I say, standing up, "if you'd give me my wand back, please, I'll be gone in a few minutes."

He looks up at me like trying to see if I am serious or not, but I am, very serious.

"Alright," he says, opening the first drawer of his desk and handing me my wand, "but as soon as you cross that door and leave my rooms this will be over."

"I know that," I say, and I go back into the studio.

…

With a move of my wand my clothes, shoes and few things fly on their own towards me. With another movement, I am dressed and ready to go.

He's back to his paper work when I walk into the office again. I wish there was another way to leave the rooms so I didn't have to walk by him.

Should I say anything? Should I say good bye? Merlin, it will be so hard seeing him again in the Great Hall after this… I don't want to leave, but my pride doesn't let me say a word, I just cross the room and put my hand on the handle of the other door.

"What is that you want to know exactly?" he asks, before I can even turn the doorknob, with a very low voice.

I stay still; don't even turn around to face him. Thank god he stopped me!

"Just some answers," I say.

"They will have a price," he explains, "if you're willing to pay it, I will answer your questions," he adds.

"What price?" I wonder and now I do look at him. He grins.

"I'll decide once we're over with it," he says.

"Alright," I quickly agree, afraid that if I take too much time to think he'll change his mind and make me go.

"Good," he says, "now beg me to stay."

"What?"

"You were leaving, weren't you?" he says, "if you want me to let you stay, beg for it."

* * *

.

Beg? I think my desire to leave just grows more than ever at this point. Beg? Me? I didn't beg a moment ago when I thought he wanted me to leave, why would I do it now that I know he wants me to stay.

It's part of the game, I know. He's playing with my mind, he knows how much I hate this, he knows how proud I am so he's using it to humiliate me.

"Can't we just..." I mutter.

"Beg," he repeats, and I give up.

"Please," I say, "Sir," I add, "can I stay?" and he laughs.

"That's not begging, Ms. McGonagall," he says, "I want you on your knees, I want you crawling to my feet, I want you telling me why I should let you stay."

Oh, he's evil. Pure and dark evil! But for some reason, this power he has over me, that I allow him have over me, makes me desire him even more instead of hate him.

"Please, Sir," I say kneeling down and leaving my folder, my book and my wand on the floor so I can crawl behind the desk and be in front of him, "Please, let me stay," I repeat, kneeling at his feet, my eyes staring at the ground, "I promise I won't be disrespectful again."

"Still not saying why I should keep you," he mutters, and I bite my lip to keep my temper down before answering.

"Because you're my Master," I say.

"And?"

"And I need you," I add, hoping that's enough, but it's not. He grabs me by my hair and makes me look at him.

"And you worship me, and you'll obey me on anything, and you crave for my cock right now," he says, and I fear he'll make me repeat it, even before he says it aloud: "now say it."

"Because you're my master, and I need you, and I worship you, and I'll obey you on anything, and right now I crave for your cock," I say.

"Now show me," he says, "show me how much you crave for my cock."

Now, that's something I can do better than begging.

As soon as he lets go of my hair, I unzip his trousers and help his hard cock out of his boxers. His erection grows fast at my hands and his cum fills my throat after a few minutes.

* * *

.

Wandless again, I go into the bedroom to change into my slip again, following Severus' instructions. I wonder when we'll talk, maybe he's tricked me and he'll just delay it until I forget about it; but I don't think so, because he said my questions would have a price, and I'm pretty sure he's already though of something worse than making me beg on my knees.

Looking at myself in the mirror, trying to fix my hair a little, I wonder why am I putting up with all these. Do I really need this? Am I so fucked up that I need such humiliations to feel better? I could have left, I was going to, but I didn't.

I wish I had an answer to give to myself; all I know is that I really didn't want to leave, that it had only been an impulse that I couldn't stop because of pride… a pride that Severus made sure to break. I don't know why he didn't let me go, probably because he likes having someone to please his needs so close, as he's said before, it's practical… whatever his reasons were, he didn't let me cross that door and, even if he humiliated me afterwards, I feel grateful for that.

…

When I return to the sitting room, he's waiting for me in the sofa with two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

"Sit down," he says, and he hands me a glass as I sit next to him. His face expression is stern. I wonder if he's worried about what I'm going to ask or if he's upset for me almost leaving.

"Thank you," I say and I take a sip, because I know I'll need it.

"Well," he says, "you have the word now, Ms. McGonagall."

The fact that he's still talking to me with formalities makes me realize that we're not exactly OK. I am tempted to say that we can let it go, that I don't mind about his past… but I do.

"Why did you join the Death Eaters?" I ask very directly and he also takes a sip of his wine before talking, "Was is because of power?"

"No, anyone who did that would be stupid, our Lord had the power, we were mere submissive to him," he explains, "I joined them because they made me feel as if I belonged," he says.

"Have you killed anyone?" I ask, afraid of an answer I already know.

"Yes," he says, "but so have you, Ms. McGonagall. Isn't that what war is about? People killing people," his tone is calmed, almost soothing, "the difference between you and me is that you won and I lost, therefore, you carry your deaths as a hero and I as a killer."

I have no words to reply. He's right. I took my part in the war, I took lives, maybe not so innocent, but lives anyway, with mothers, and families, and love ones.

"Have you tortured anyone?" again, I know the answer, but I want to hear it from his lips.

"Yes," he says, "many."

"Did you take pleasure on it?" I need to know, am I a replacement for what he can't do anymore? Did he take the same pleasure torturing an innocent mother of half-bloods than he does with me?

"No, Ms. McGonagall," he says, and his eyes tell me he's not lying, "I don't take pleasure with the suffering of others, I killed innocent people, I tortured innocent people, it was wrong, it felt wrong, and I regret it now that I know the truth of the master I was worshiping. But I can't do anything to repair the harm I did as a Death Eater, and I have the mark you saw this morning to remind me of it every day."

We stay in silence for a moment. He's speaking from the heart, I can feel it, and I really appreciate his honesty.

"Why did you change your mind?" I ask, suddenly thinking of Alastor's words on Snape, "What made you leave the Death Eaters when they seem to be winning the war? If you belonged, if you were so blind, why would you betray them?"

He empties his glass as I wait for him to answer.

"I just did," it's all he says, and I don't dare to insist.

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	17. Complicated trust

**A/N:** This is a messy chapter but I'm sure nobody will get lost... Basically Minerva goes over the week following their last weekend and on Friday things get pretty interesting.

ENJOY ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Complicated trust**

**.**

**By Saeshmea**

**.**

* * *

He didn't tell me what the price for his answers would be until last moment on Sunday, and when he did I understood why.

For the entire week I was meant to follow every one of his instructions no matter how silly or pointless I found them. For example, I had to wear my hair down, which I hadn't done in the school since my student years. The change of look didn't go unnoticed, obviously, and I received compliments from every member of the staff and even, some of the students of my house.

_"Anything interesting on the paper, Filius?" I asked Flitwick on Monday morning when we were the first to occupy the professor's table. Filius is probably the one I respect the most of all of my colleagues, we are very similar in character and we both share an interest for chess. Also, our subjects are linked to each other, so many times we've had heated arguments about spells and enchantments._

_"Not as interesting as your change of look, Minerva," he pointed out._

_"I was in need of a change," I said, hoping this would be enough explanation for him and anyone who wondered._

_"A change for the good, I must say," he replied playfully, and I smiled shyly. _

_"Thanks, I said._

…

Another instruction to follow was to wait for him to be in the Great Hall before start eating any meal, which wouldn't have been annoying if he hadn't made sure to be late every single time, making me come up with silly excuses to explain my lack of hunger to those who asked.

_"Is there anything troubling you, my dear?" Albus asked on Tuesday looking at my untouched food._

_"No," I said, "really."_

_"Are you sure, because meat pie is usually your favorite," he said, and then I spotted Severus walking into the room and I sighted on relieve._

_"I was just waiting for it to cool down," I replied, finally allowed to have a bite._

…

It was probably having to use only the dungeon bathrooms the one that bothered me the most, because it forced me to schedule my visits to the toilet so that the journey down and up the stairs would make me be late to any class, but it was also the one that amused me the most, because if I happened to walk by him, he would follow me.

_"Against the sinks," he said on Wednesday, after making sure we were alone and locking the door so we wouldn't be disturbed._

_I did as I was told and leaned against the sinks. He corrected my posture, magically rolled up my skirt, and I had to watch myself in the mirror while he spanked me and fucked me after. It was both exciting and humiliating, and the image is still very vivid in my mind._

…

But he had other ways to humiliate me without even touch me. For the entire week I could not wear any piece of underwear, which I thought wouldn't be hard after that afternoon when he'd stolen my knickers, but it was. I had the feeling my students could see through my dress every time they whispered something, that the ghosts in the school knew my secret when I noticed them staring at me, that my colleagues were very aware of my nudity under my skirt... and even though I knew all this were just my own paranoia, on Thursday I had enough.

_"What's this?" he asked when we could finally be alone after lunch, in my office this time, "did I give you permission to put underwear on again?" He asked, me sitting on top of my desk with my skirt rolled up, he standing in front of me, with his hand between my knickers and my skin._

_"You didn't, Sir," I muttered, staring at him, starting to regret having disobeyed, trying to know if he was really mad or just in his role as Master._

_"Then, why did you cover your cunt?" his voice was calmed, "Do you remember what I did with your knickers the last time you were wearing them when you weren't supposed to?" he asked and I just nod, "Well, then, show me."_

_He sat on my own chair and waited. I hesitated, I knew what he wanted me to do, but I couldn't, it was just… it was too much, too embarrassing, it was… it was making me wet._

_I saw him smirk, I don't know if because he noticed my wetness or because my hesitance was amusing him. Whatever the reason, it was enough to make me do it._

_He touched himself while he watched me took off my knickers, spread my legs wider and slowly fill my vagina with them. And one more time I felt both humiliated but excited, and when he told me to climb down the desk and kneel down, I did it and sucked his cock with lust and desire not even waiting for his instruction._

* * *

…

* * *

He makes me do things I would have never thought I'd dare, he plays with my mind as if he knew it better than I do, he pushes me slowly and sometimes I don't know if I am really obeying willingly or if he really has some kind of power over me. It's fun, it's exciting, until now.

We're in his office, his sitting on his desk, doing some work, or so he says, and I am… well, I'm under the desk.

He sent me an owl to my class saying to come down once I was done. He tied my hands to my back, made me go under his table, and said his cum would be my only lunch unless I gave him the best blowjob ever.

Easy job, I thought, so I began while he checked some essays for Slughorn, or pretended to, until this moment, when someone suddenly knocks the door.

"Come in," he says, and I open my eyes widely in incredulity. Has he forgotten about me? I wonder, and I receive an answer soon when he takes a hand under the table and presses my head against his cock, almost making me choke, as soon as he notices I've stopped.

He can't pretend me to keep going while there's someone else in the room! I'm filled with anger, I wish I could disappear right now. I could transform into my cat form, but it wouldn't be of much help since everyone knows it in the school… so I would still be stuck under the desk.

"Hello, Severus, I hope I'm not disturbing," a voice I know too well says, and my heart begins to bounce in my heart.

"Of course not, Headmaster," Severus says, too calmed to be human. How is it possible that he's not nervous at all?

"I only wanted to remind you that we're leaving today at six o'clock," Albus says, and I wonder what he's talking about, "we'll be staying at the Leaky Cauldron, I know it's not fancy, but Tom always makes me a good price."

"Of course," Severus replies with little interest.

"Well, all I have to do now is find Minerva and tell her I'll be gone," Dumbledore adds and I cringe, "I'll wait for you at the entrance," after that, I hear the door close and a moment later Severus moves his chair so I can come out.

"You stopped," he says.

"Untie me," I demand.

"No," he answers, and I don't insist, I until myself magically and walk away.

"What's wrong?" he wonders, as if I was crazy.

"He could have seen me!" I yell.

"But he didn't," he replies.

"He could have noticed there was something strange, he could have heard me," I keep yelling.

"Minerva, calm down," he says, his voice changed, "he has no clue that you were there."

"I don't like this games," I seem unable to lower my voice, my heart is still pounding and I'm breathing heavily, "I don't like to risk it like this, I don't…" he silences me, with a kiss, a soft, sweet, soothing kiss that I return and slowly becomes passionate, and we don't break at any moment while he pushes me against the library, and takes his hand under my dress, and begins to touch me.

My anger disappears, so does my fear; soon I reach that point when I don't feel anything else but the pleasure he's giving me and then… he stops.

"Please," I beg, really not wanting to be tortured like this right now, and I receive a glare for an answer.

"Finish your job first," he says, and like an obedient little doggy I slight down his body, kneel down and finish what I was doing.

…

"I didn't know he was coming and I let him in because I knew there was no risk," he assures me later, while we're sitting on his sofa, over a strong cup of black tea.

"It's alright, it's over now," I say.

"But I'd like you to trust me, Minerva," he insists.

"I do trust you, Severus," I assure him, "isn't all what I've been doing prove enough."

"You did need to ask about my past," he points out, and I realize now this isn't just about today.

"Yes, I did. Seeing your mark brought many doubts and questions to my mind that I had tried to ignore to that moment," I explain.

"Were they solved?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer, "by your honesty and regret."

"I don't see how," he says.

"I wasn't expecting you to tell me that you'd been a saint, Severus," I confess, "all I wanted to know was if you were a man to trust."

"So, am I?" he asks after a long silence.

"I wouldn't have stayed otherwise," I say.

* * *

...

* * *

When I meet Albus at lunch time I feel my cheeks blush, but I get to keep my temper at after a moment.

He tells me he'll be gone for the weekend with Mr. Snape to attend some Ministry matters. It's the same Severus told me. And, as always, he tells me to keep a look at the school while he's gone.

Well, seeing my plans for the weekend, I decide to pay a visit to Alastor.

"Minerva, I'm so glad to see you," he says, letting me in and quickly fetching two glasses and a new bottle of fire whiskey. He really has improved with the orthopedic leg, although I notice he leans on his walking stick every now and then to keep his balance, "it's so boring here."

"When are you going back to work?" I ask.

"If it was up to me," he says, coming back to the sitting area with the drinks, "I had been back the same day I left the hospital," he pours the liquid into the glasses as I giggle at his comment, "but the Head of Department says I deserve a rest."

"I agree," I say, and he scowls at me as he hands me my drink.

"I don't care if I deserve a fucking rest," he curses, "I don't want it," he insists, "I want to work."

"I wouldn't mind a rest if I was given the change," I say, trying to calm him down.

"Of course, if I had to deal with all those brats I would want to run away too," he says, "you're like me, Minerva, you need action, danger, excitement… you should have never left the auror department."

As he says these words, I don't exactly think about my auror years. Action, danger and excitement is what I've had with Severus all over the week and Alastor is right, I like it, I need it… and I can't believe I won't be going to his rooms tonight at nine o'clock for more.

…

It's around seven when I leave Alastor's apartment. It's a lovely evening. No rain, no fog… I decide to walk down a few streets before disapparating to Hogsmeade.

"Miss. McGonagall!" I hear my name being called by a strange voice and I stop and turn around.

A tall man, blonde haired in muggle clothes is walking towards me and it takes me a while to recognize him.

"Mr. Goodman," I say, "good evening."

"Please, do call me Mark," he says when he reaches me.

Markus Goodman is the new ambassador of the American Ministry in England and also the blind date my aunt prepared for me last week.

The truth is I was so upset with her for tricking me that I paid very little attention to the poor man during tea, but he seemed nice, very eloquent and cult.

"In that case I guess you should call me Minerva," I say.

"That would be a pleasure," he replies, and we both give each other that silly smile strangers do when they don't know what to say next, "were you going somewhere?" he asks suddenly.

"Not really," I confess, "just for a walk before going back to the school."

"Can I invite to a cup of coffee, then?" he asks, "or tea," he adds, "without your aunt, this time," and that makes me laugh, although I don't.

"I see no harm in it," I reply, and we walk into a muggle café in a couple streets ahead; a very nice place, with vintage decoration, French music on the background, and a delicious green tea.

"I'd like to apologize for the other day," he says, "I didn't know the intentions of your aunt's invitation until she introduced us."

"It's alright," I reply, "you're not the first man she's tried to set me up with."

"I see," he mutters, "demanding, you must be."

I stare at him, and he laughs.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Since my mother died Millicent thinks she's responsible for me," I explain, "and she thinks I should be… looking for a husband."

"Oh, are you?" he asks.

"No, Mr. Goodman, I'm not."

"Mark, please. Mr. Goodman was my father," he says, "so, we've sorted that you're not looking for a husband," he points out, "are you opened to dating?" he asks.

"I…" am I? Of course I am, but… there's Severus now and we're sort of… sort of something, right?

"Oh, there is someone," he says with a sad tone. Oh my god, he fancies me, he wanted to ask me out… He's cute… He's funny… but there's Severus.

"Not exactly," I say, "it's just… it's complicated."

"I don't mind complicated things," he says smiling. He has a charming smile.

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	18. The Leaky Cauldron

**A/N:** I have a plan for the story, but I donm sorry Ive done with some of my fics in the past, because I really know where this is going.

Anyway, I just wanted to give you some clue of what It worry, Minerva will clear everything up on the next chapter.

Enjoy ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**The Leaky Cauldron**

**.**

**By Saeshmea**

**.**

* * *

Lying on the crappy bed of my room in the Leaky Cauldron I look at the time and realize it's almost nine o'clock. If I hadn't been called by the Ministry I would be now counting the minutes down to meet Minerva. This is definitely going to be a long weekend, especially with Dumbledore controlling every single one of my movements.

I can hear the bells of some muggle church when someone knocks the door of my room. If it's the Headmaster again trying to convince me to join him for dinner downstairs I swear I'll heck him with whatever spell I can come up with first; but it's not him.

Standing in the corridor, hiding behind the hood of her cloak, there's Minerva, staring at me while I try to figure out if this is real or if I'm just daydreaming.

"May I come in?" she breaks our silence, "Or should we wait for Albus to come out of his room and find me here?"

"Please," I mutter, stepping away and inviting her in.

As I close the door, she gets rid of her tartan cloak. Underneath, she's wearing the same clothes she was wearing this morning when I had her under my desk: a green skirt, long to her ankles, and a long-sleeved white blouse buttoned up to the neck.

Before I can ask her what she's doing here, she kneels down in front of me, offering me her wand and there's no more need for questions. She wants to play and I will not disappoint her.

I take the wand and keep it in my pocket.

"You tied your hair up again," I say, with a serious tone, standing behind her. She doesn't reply, "the day is not over, yet, Ms. McGonagall."

"I'm sorry, Sir.," she apologises, "I thought..."

"You thought wrong," I interrupt, grabbing her by the hair, messing her so-perfect bun, forcing her to stand up so I can whisper in her ear without bending down, "you'll be punished for being a disobedient little slut," I say, as I pull her wrists to her back and magically tie them up.

* * *

Covered in sweat, I stand up from the bed and allow myself to contemplate, for a moment, her slim body panting, shaking, crawled on the beige sheets as her breathe calms down. The reddish colour her ass and thighs had a moment ago is now starting to disappear, which makes me think I have been too soft this time, but I didn't know how strong the spells of these rooms were and I didn't want to risk Dumbledore hearing anything.

Her clothes are all over the floor, so are mine. I pick them up, get dressed quickly and come back to Minerva with her cloak on my hands.

"Are you alright?" I ask, as I softly cover her with it. She just nods, "I'm going to take some dinner," I say, "I'll be back in a minute."

...

I don't like leaving her alone in a strange room, even having locked the door with my own spell I don't feel it's safe enough, but I'm hungry, and she must be starving too.

The tavern is crowded at this time. I spot the Headmaster in one corner, sharing the table with two other old wizards, with the dirty plates of their dinner stacked in a pile and an empty bottle of firewhisky.

I ignore him, hopping he doesn't notice me, and walk directly to the bar to make my order. Unfortunately, the culinary options in the Leaky Cauldron aren't exactly what I would choose for an accompanied evening, but it's not as if I had any other choice.

"Severus!" I hear the Headmaster call me and I turn around carrying my tray.

"Good night, Sir," I greet, hoping he doesn't want to establish a conversation of any kind.

"That's a lot of food for one," he points out, and I keep my temper, "are you expecting company?"

"Even if I was, I don't think it would be your business, Sir.," I snap.

"That would depend, my dear boy," he replies, "on who was making you company," the tone of his voice makes me wonder if he could know something, but that's impossible.

"I thought mine was the only life you liked to control," I say, and the other wizards on the table look at the headmaster, waiting for his answer.

"I don't control anyone, Severus," he replies, "I just like to keep an eye on those who are close to me."

"Of course," I mutter, not wishing to make this stupid argument any longer.

"I'll wait for you down here on the morning," he says before I leave.

"Eight o'clock," I reassure before going upstairs.

...

I find Minerva sitting up on the bed, half-covered by her cloak.

"Better?" I ask, and she nods, "I hope you don't mind some fish and chips, it was the best thing they had downstairs."

"Of course I don't," she replies.

"Good," I say, and we remain silence as I leave the tray on the night table and sit at the edge of the bed.

"Sir," she asks, "do you mind letting me go?" and she turns around to remind me that my spell is still bounding her hands together at her back.

"I do," I say.

"Please, Sir, you can still feed me," she begs, "I just need to rest my arms."

Immediately, I grab my wand and remove the spell.

"You should have told me earlier if your arms were sore," I scold her as I crawl on the sheets to sit behind her and I began to massage her arms and shoulders.

"I was distracted, earlier," she says, as her muscles relax under my touch and her breathe becomes a low moaning. She leans back against me, and I brush her hair away and bring my lips to the back of her neck.

...

It's around midnight when we finally eat our dinner, and we do it sitting on the bed sheets, which feels like some kind of indoor picnic.

"What are you doing in London with Albus?" she asks at some point.

"There are new trials against other Death Eaters this week," I explain, "and they wanted me to declare against them."

"Don't you feel bad?" she asks, "I mean, pointing fingers to those who were supposed to be your friends."

Is she asking out of curiosity or does she actually care?

"I do," I confess, not really sure why, "but Dumbledore asked for my testimony to be anonymous so, not having to see their faces makes it a little easier."

Suddenly, she places a hand on top of mine. She's comforting me. Why? Why would she care? She despises the Death Eaters.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this," she says.

"Why did you come?" I ask, probably sounding ruder than I wished, "Weren't you supposed to be babysitting the school?"

"Friday is my free afternoon and I always come to London to visit some friends," she explains, "and anyway, I'm sure the school will still be in one piece when I go back."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"I needed to see you and I remembered Dumbledore said you'd be staying here," she explains.

"You needed to see me?" I insist. There's something she's not telling me and I want to know. She sights, defeated, and I grin.

"Do you remember last week, when I was late and I told you I'd been having tea with my aunt...?"

"Was it a lie?" I ask, changing my tone to a more serious one.

"No," she quickly says, "not exactly," she corrects, "I was at my aunt's, I was having tea but... she had fixed me up a blind date with some man."

"I see," I say, not sure of how to react, "does she do it often?"

"No," she replies as fast as before, "well, she hadn't done it since before the war, and I thought she wouldn't do it anymore, but..." she explains, "she likes trying to look for a husband for me".

"Did you have a date with him today?" I question, guessing this is what connects the events of last Friday with today.

"Well, I didn't, but I kind of..." she mutters and I knit my eyebrows trying to understand, "I came to London to visit Moody," she says, "you do know him, right?"

"Alastor Moody, the auror?" I try to hide my annoyed tone; so many men in her story is starting to bother me, "do you have something with him?"

"Merlin, no!" she yells, and somehow I feel better, "Alastor is a friend, a good friend. He was bad injured in the war and I come to check on him every Friday," she explains, "anyway, it was him who I came to London for, but when I left his house I met with Mr. Goodman in the street."

"Mr. Goodman?" I ask.

"He's the man my aunt introduced me to," she explains.

"I see," I say, trying to keep my temper down.

"He invited me for coffee and I went," she adds, "nothing happened but, he asked me out tomorrow night."

"I see," I repeat again, not sure of what to say, "did you agreed to go?"

"I told him it was complicated," she mutters.

"So, you came to ask me for permission," now I am upset. I stand from the bed and walk away, not willing to get angry in front of her.

"No," she assures, "it's not like that, I came because I needed to see you."

"So I could give you permission to go on a date," I insist.

"No!" she yells, desperately. She's standing behind me, "Because I had just rejected a great man because of you, and I needed you to reassure me I'd done well."

"Go to your date," I say after turning around.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"I don't want to stop you from finding the right man, Minerva," I say, "you deserve more, you deserve happiness."

"But I'm happy now," she mutters, "I don't want this to stop," she says, "what if..."

"We won't stop anything yet," I say.

"Are you are actually asking me to go out with another man while we still…?" she wonders.

"I'm giving you the permission you didn't come to ask," I say, "if you go or not is your choice," I add, "whatever you decide, nothing will change unless you want it."

"This is surreal," she says, "I can't just date someone while... No, this is crazy!"

"No, it's not," I assure, "because if you choose to go you will have to pay a price," I grin and she looks at me with curiosity on her eyes, "He'll take you to a fancy place, you'll share a delicious dinner and a nice conversation and, before the desserts come out, you will escape to the restroom and make yourself come. I want no cleaning spells on your knickers, because they'll be proof that you've followed my instructions."

* * *

…

* * *

Not knowing if Minerva has decided to go or not to her date makes my following day miserable.

Of course I mind her going out with other men; she is the only thing that gives some meaning to my life right now and, even though I could find another submissive, it wouldn't be the same. It even isn't a matter of how practical it is living the two in the same castle anymore; she is just different than any other woman who has served me before. With Minerva I can act and talk in a way I wouldn't with anyone else, I feel she understands me, she doesn't judge me, she doesn't fear me... I would regret losing what we have, but I was honest when I said I didn't want to prevent her from finding something more.

...

When the trials of the day are done, I think about escaping to my house for a few hours; buy some groceries and make myself dinner in my little kitchen and have a light meal alone in my cosy little sitting room; but I decide to go back to the Inn with Dumbledore, not because I fear his reaction if I was to disappear, but because I expect Minerva to come back weather she has gone to her date or not.

This time, I prepare everything like I usually would. I order a cold bottle of champagne and a meal for two and transfigure some of the furniture of the room into a small round table and two chairs, which I place in front of the street view. Then, I wait.

Around half past nine the plates are cold and I am convinced that Minerva decided to meet with Mr. Goodman today. Around ten o'clock I begin to think she might not come; that she is enjoying her time with him and hasn't even remembered about my instructions; that she probably went to his fancy city house and doesn't want to see me again.

Ten minutes later, she's at the door.

She rushes inside and before I can speak, she takes something out from her pocket and throws it to me. They're her knickers, wet.

"I hope you're happy," she sounds upset.

"What's the matter?" I question.

"I did it, I passed your fucking test!" she yells.

"Minerva, what's wrong?" I ask.

"It was all a trick, wasn't it?" she shouts, "Making me go to the date, giving me some fucking instructions so you could test if I was loyal to you or not," she says, "well, I am… because during the entire fucking date I couldn't think of anything else than you and your fucking dare!"

"Minerva, calm down, let's talk," I say, walking towards her, resting my hands on her shoulders.

"No!" she yells, "I don't want to talk, I'm leaving."

"Please, don't," I insist, "stay."

"I'm too angry to stay," she says, "good night," and she storms out of the room before I can react, before I can even analyse what just happened.

She's wrong. It wasn't a trick, it wasn't a test… but I'm glad she passed it.

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	19. Spring apologies

A/N: I'm inspired again ^^ At least this took only a day to write, the previous chapter took almost a month to complete uu'

I hope you're not disappointed with Minerva's trail of thoughts on this part... anyway...

ENJOY ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**Spring apologies**

**.**

**By Saeshmea**

**.**

* * *

I'm not going to that date. It's what I say to myself as soon as I leave the Leaky Cauldron.

I don't want to go. I came here because I fucking wanted to, not because I wanted his fucking permission. I'm not a fucking child! I do whatever I want, whenever I want to, because I want to. And I am not going to date Markus Goodman just because he said it was alright, I'll do it because I want.

Wait! I stop walking in the middle of Diagon Alley. It's dark, all the shops are closed and nobody else is in the street apart from a couple cats chasing each other in front of Ollivanders'.

Did I just decide I would go to the date with Mr. Goodman? I did, right?

…

Get a good education and a good place in life that helps you find a good man to marry and have children with. That's what I was taught during my childhood, that's what I've been fighting against my entire life. But I am over forty, like Millicent keeps reminding me, and I've never had a relationship that has lasted more than a month. Maybe it is time to settle down for me, to find someone like Mr. Goodman, to get married like Pomona and Hans, to have children before life decides it's too late for me.

_You deserve more_, Severus said, _you deserve happiness_. Well, let's go look for more, let's go look for happiness.

* * *

…

_Dear Mr. Goodman,_ I write on the morning before breakfast.

_Apparently things are not as complicated as I thought they were. If you are still willing to go, I would love to have dinner with you tonight._

_Sincerely,_

_M. McGonagall._

…

_Dear Minerva,_ he replies an hour after my owl has parted.

_Your words have made very happy. I will be waiting for you in Hogsmeade at 7 o'clock to apparated together in London._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Markus._

* * *

We go to a Moroccan restaurant, very elegant, very different. They give us a table in a private room, which I really appreciate so we can speak freely without worrying about muggles overhearing words they can't understand.

"I don't think I've said you how gorgeous you look today," he says after we're served our drinks.

"Thank you," I mutter, stupidly pulling a flock of my hair behind my ear. I haven't let my hair down, but I'm wearing a loose bun.

"I hope you like Moroccan, I worked there a couple years ago and felt in love with the cuisine," he explains, and we begin a casual conversion about the food we like, the jobs we've had, the places we've visited… Markus is an interesting man, entertaining, very polite, very cult… but by the time we finish our Bstilla I wonder what he might like in bed.

Does he have any kind of fetish? Would he be willing to bend me over and spank me like Severus does? Would he find it enjoyable? Would he be disgusted by my recent sexual discoveries? I bet he would… He looks so neat, so sinless, so conservative… but so do I, right? Maybe he hides a dark side too, everybody does.

"Do you have secrets, Markus?" I suddenly find myself asking after the young waitress has left with the empty dishes.

"Secrets?" he asks confused.

"Yes, things you wouldn't tell anyone," I explain, "things that make you go red."

"I don't think so," he says, very convinced.

"What about in bed?" I ask.

"Oh, I like the left side of the bed," he says, "is that what you were asking for."

"Well, not exactly," I say, disappointed.

"Do you?" he questions.

"Do I what?"

"Have secrets," he asks.

"No," I lie, "but I like the left side of the bed too," I say, and he laughs.

The waitress comes back with our lamb and couscous and while I listen to them speak in Arabic, I wonder if I'd like Markus to be a dominant… Would I go under the table right now if he asked me? I know I would if Severus did, but would I obey any other men?

What a silly question… I've been Severus submissive for how long? Three weeks? … Two months if I count it since La Maison, probably the longest of my relationships. I went there to test myself, and I found him, or he found me, I don't know… Anyway, it could have been anyone else who'd reached me and things could have gone very differently… Would I have gone so far with anyone else? Would I have dared to become the submissive of a real stranger?

I'm just asking questions I can't answer.

"Minerva?" Markus catches my attention, "are you alright?"

"Yes," I say, "I'm sorry, I just go distracted."

"Was the food alright?" he asks, pointing at my empty plate.

"Delicious," I say, "but you'll need to excuse me for a moment."

"Of course," he says as I stand up, "I'll ask honey pastries for dessert," he says, "you'll love them."

"I'm sure," and I leave.

...

The restroom for the private tables is, fortunately, individual. I lock the room, and cast a couple spells to ensure I won't be disturbed and neither listened from outside. I sit on the toilet lid after casting a cleaning spell and take my hand under the skirt of my dress.

_You deserve more_, Severus said, _you deserve happiness_. But he also said to abandon my date for a few minutes and masturbate myself thinking of him. A feeling of anger raises inside of me while I get wet by my own touch, no, not anger, impotence… because I still don't understand why I enjoy this so much, why I enjoy being humiliated, being told what to do…

Why am I here? Why am I doing this? The date wasn't going so bad, was it? But it wasn't what I wanted… I don't want any date, I don't any husband, I don't want any fucking family right now.

I moan so close to climax.

I could just not do this, I could just leave, tell Markus I am not ready for a relationship, go back to Severus and tell him I don't want to see other men.

I wonder if he planned this like he does with everything else, if this was another one of his mind games… Could this have been all a trick, a test?

Finally, I come.

Of course it was, it makes sense... right? He wanted to test my loyalty, to see how far I would go to obey him… that's why he asked me for a proof. Oh, now I am mad, because I've fallen into his damn trap like a silly girl.

I take off my wet knickers, keep them in the pocket of my dress and go back to the table.

Dessert is delicious, like Markus had said, but I'm afraid he'll find it bittersweet after I tell him we won't be repeating this again.

_You deserve more_, Severus said, _you deserve happiness_. Well, fuck happiness!

* * *

...

* * *

I hear footsteps, a door opening and closing, a deep breathe… I raise my eyes, someone turns the doorknob around and then… he sees me, kneeling down on the floor of his sitting room, naked.

"Minerva," he says, as surprised to find me here as I am to see him carrying a roses bouquet and a box of chocolates.

"Good evening, Sir," I say with a clear voice, keeping my temper. I've been here for almost two hours now, not sure of when they would be back from London.

He leaves the presents on the nearest surface and comes to me.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, taking my hands and making me stand up.

"I wanted to apologize," I say and he hands me my clothes, which I had left on the armchair, as always.

"Get dressed," he says, very seriously. I'm confused. Have I offended him? Aren't his presents for me? Maybe he has already gotten a new submissive and he's expecting her.

"I'm sorry," I mutter as I magically dress myself, "I'll leave…"

"I don't want you to leave," he says, taking the flowers and the chocolates and offering them to me, "I just went to your rooms and found them empty. I thought you were avoiding me," he explains, as I smell the beautiful red roses.

"This doesn't fit you," I joke, taking them.

"I thought an apology wouldn't be enough," he says, "Minerva, I never meant to offend you."

"It's alright," I say, "let's just state that we're both sorry and start from scratch again," I purpose.

"Sounds good," he agrees.

…

That night we just talked. We talked about everything: my date, the trials he had to attend, the man I'd dated in the past, the other submissive he'd had, how I ended up in La Maison that night of two months ago, how he discovered this world, what I thought I would find, what he finds in this relationships, my fantasies, his limits… we talked until I felt asleep, and I woke up the next morning on his bed, still dressed, untied, and smelling hot coffee and pancakes. What a nice and unusual way to start the week.

* * *

… one month later …

* * *

"What is it that you wanted to show me?" he asks, after we enter my rooms, "and why couldn't we do it in my rooms?" he insists, and I make him sit on my sofa ignoring his plea.

"Be patient," I say, disappearing into the corridor. This morning, the girls and I went to London to pick up our dresses for Pomona's wedding. Rolanda, Poppy and I are going to be the bridesmaids, something that had really amused me ten years ago when she purposed it to us for the original wedding, now it feels ridiculous, but she's my friend, so… Anyway, I've brought Severus to my rooms so he can see me in the dress.

"Ready?" I ask.

"I don't know what for," he says, and I roll my eyes before stepping out.

He says nothing, but his mouth drops open, which I hope is a good sign.

"Do you like it?" I ask.

"It's so…" he mutters, standing up, "different," he says, taking my hand and making me twirl like a ballerina to see me better.

"Is that bad?" I ask.

"No," he says, with a hint of a smile on his lips, which is so unusual, that I couldn't be more amused by it.

The dress is pink, short and sleeveless, tight on the chest but with a flawless skirt. It's very beautiful, perfect for spring time in the south of France, but, like Severus said, very different to whatever you'd find in my wardrobe.

"I love it," he adds, taking my waist and pulling me closer, filling my neck with kisses while his hand unties my bun.

"Severus," I mutter, but he silences my lips with a kiss, "Severus," I insist, while he rolls up my skirt, "Sir, please, stop!" I finally say a little louder and he stops and I step back.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Pomona will kill me if I do anything to the dress," I say.

"I'm not going to do anything to the dress," he assures, "only you," he adds, grinning.

"Let me just take it off," I insist, "and I'll be all yours."

"So soon?" he says with a childish voice, "only if you promise you'll wear it back for me after the wedding."

"Seriously?" I reply, and he just stares at me, "alright, whatever you wish," I give up and I walk away.

Before I've had time to put my other dress back on, I feel his hand on my back and I shiver.

"Get ready for punishment," he says, and I turn around.

"Why?" I ask, gazing at his dark eyes.

"Because you put on a sexy dress and didn't let me fuck you on it."

.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	20. The wedding, Mr Goodmand and the oral sx

A/N: I know the cutting on this chapter is a little weird, but I wanted to go straight to the interesting parts, so what is missing is just what I don't consider important.

The next chapter will be Severus POV and the truth is that I haven't figured out how to tell what's coming on his voice, so it probably won't come up tomorrow...

ENJOY ^_^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**The wedding, Mr. Goodmand and the oral sex**

**.**

**By Saeshmea**

**.**

* * *

"I hate portkeys," Rolanda states as soon as we all reach Hogsmeade, "couldn't we just have apparated or something?"

"No," Pomona replies, "this way I make sure everybody is there on time."

"Not to say all the paperwork it takes to apparated into the continent," I remind them.

"Right," the bride-to-be agrees, "can anyone see it, though?"

"I think it's here," Poppy says, pointing to a plant pot of white iris flowers resting in the corner of a house.

"Aren't they lovely?" Pomona asks, walking there and picking them up.

"I think you could have come up with something different," I say.

"It's my wedding, what could make a better portkey than my favorite flowers?" she says, and we all stand around the plant and grab the pot.

"At what time did you say it was leav-?" Rolanda asks, but before she can finish the question we're already pulled away from where we are and an instant later, which feels more like several minutes, we're standing insight what looks like an elevator.

…

The doors of the small square are opened immediately and Hans, accompanied by an older couple, welcomes us into the lobby of a muggle hotel.

Before anyone can say a word, he and Pomona kiss each other and melt into an embrace, as if they hadn't seen each other just a couple days ago.

"Welcome to France, ladies," he says when they break apart, "I hope the journey was alright."

"A little dizzy, but nothing a glass of your champagne can't make disappear," Rolanda mutters.

"These are my parents," Hans goes on with the introductions, "Dad, maman, these are Pomona's friends and colleagues from Hogwarts."

"So nice to meet you," we all say, almost at once.

"Oh, here are the keys to your rooms," he says, handing them to us, "they all are in the top floor."

"We hired the entire attic so we don't have troubles with the muggles," Hans' father, Mr. Van Dijken says.

"You'll find your luggage in your respective rooms already," his mother adds with a nice French accent.

"Thank you for everything Mr. and Mrs. Van Dijken," Poppy and I say together.

"It's our pleasure," they say, "we're dying to see these two married already," she adds.

"You must be tired, we'll see each other tomorrow," Hans says to Pomona, "don't be late or I'll worry."

"Nothing could make me be late," she says, giving him a last kiss before we return to the elevator and go up to the top floor.

The wedding is taking place tomorrow in this fancy hotel in the South of France, where we are, and everything is paid by Hans' parents. Apparently Hans is their only child. He is a magic biologist who travels all around the world looking for the strangest species of life, and Pomona and he met each other ages ago in a symposium that took place in this very hotel, so I guess it's kind of special for them.

…

My room is almost as big as my entire sitting room in Hogwarts and the decorations remind me of that of La Maison, which makes me think of Severus.

_"You could come to the wedding, you know," _I told him the last time he said how much he wished we didn't have to be apart this weekend, _"if I asked Pom..."_

_"And what would you tell her?" _he interrupted me as I sat on his lap, with my arms around his neck, "_If we don't want people to know about this, we can't let them get suspicious."_

_"Well, then tell me how I can compensate you for not being here, Master" _I asked, _"it's Wednesday and you haven't said anything yet." _

_"I know," _he said, that mischievous look on his eyes again, _"I want you to think about it during the weekend," _he said, _"all I can tell you is that it will involve this beautiful moth of yours," _he added, his fingers caressing my lips before kissing them, passionately.

Yes, our agreement has grown differently during the past month; we still meet every weekend, and also every other day of the week… and we don't just have sex, we also talk about our day, or about whatever has happened in the world, and there are even some nights when all we do is sleep together in my bed or his bed until the sun wakes us up; although sex, rough and submissive (by my part) sex is still the main part of our - relationship.

Yes, I guess I can call it that, a relationship. At least, it feels like one when we're alone. The rest of the time, we almost act like strangers, we ignore each other when there are other people around, and I think we do that because we fear to slip up, that I might call him master, or he might talk to me disrespectfully given our real life roles in the Castle and all would be discovered.

Yes, it's still confusing, and complicated, but I've learned to stop asking questions I can't answer, to stop trying to explain things that need no explanation. I don't know if I've found happiness, all I know is that I'm not miserable anymore.

* * *

…

* * *

"Try another spell!" I hear Pomona yell when I enter her room on the morning of her wedding, and I find Rolanda trying to zip up her dress with no luck.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"She's not willing to admit that she has put up some weight," Rolanda snaps, giving up and walking away.

"Stop saying that and try to be helpful!" Pomona shouts.

"Calm down," I say, "let me see," I walk behind her, check the zipper, and walk around her to stand in front, "sweetheart, is there anything you want to tell us?" I ask.

"Of course there is," Rolanda mutters, sitting on the bed, "that she ate an entire cow last night!"

"Oh, shut up, Ro," I say, looking back at my other friend, "Does Hans know?"

"Yes," she says smiling, "and Poppy," she adds, "we were waiting to tell everybody after the wedding. Not that we are any conservative or anything at this point, but… you know."

"Oh, I'm so happy!" I exclaim, giving her a sweet hug.

"What's going on?" Rolanda asks from the bed.

"Oh, you silly," I mutter, "she's pregnant!"

"Oh, Pom, you little slut," she jokes, and Pomona uses her wand to throw one of the pillows to her face.

"What am I going to do about the dress now?" she asks, worried.

"Well, fortunately you have a friend with excellent transfiguration skills," I say.

"Wow, you surely are the queen of modesty," Rolanda mutters, as I take the pillow case and use it to transfigure an extension to the dress.

…

The wedding was beautiful. Pomona looked radiant, happier than ever. I can't believe she's going to have a baby, although I couldn't come up with anyone who deserved to become a mother more than her.

The reception takes place in the same hotel and, after a delicious dinner, there's a ball with a life orchestra.

Rolanda and I both stay in the table, drinking. Poppy, I think, is dancing with Pomona's father. Her mother sits a couple tables away from us and I can see her, alone, still tearful, but happy… My mother would have loved to see me getting married, and I probably would have gone down the aisle years ago if she hadn't passed away. I wonder what she would think of what I have with Severus…

"Shall we dance?" a familiar voice brings me back to reality and when I turn around I see no other than Markus Goodman.

"Mark?!" I can't hide my surprise, "What-?"

"I am friends with the groom," he says, "Hans and I were classmates in America."

"I see," I feel silly.

"I saw you during the wedding, but couldn't reach you 'till now," he says, "did you come accompanied, or can I borrow you for a dance?"

"I…" I mutter stupidly.

"Of course she can dance," Rolanda, who was sitting next to me all the time without saying a word, decides to speak for me.

…

Markus takes me to the dance floor without letting go of my hand and as soon as we're surrounded by the other couples, he grabs my waist and we begin to swirl. I haven't said a word yet, I wasn't expecting to find him here at all.

"You look gorgeous today, Minerva," he whispers on my ear.

"Markus, I…" I mutter, probably telling more by the look on my eyes than through my lips.

"It's still complicated," he says.

"Yes," I say, "well, no," I correct, "but… there is someone."

"I see," he replies as we keep dancing, "is he here?" he asks, and I just shake my head, "I wouldn't let you go abroad on your own if you were mine," he says.

"It's…"

"Complicated," he says with a smile, "I know."

I close my eyes and sigh.

"Nobody knows," I say.

"Is he married?" he asks.

"No, it's not like that."

"Then, what's the problem? Why does he keep you in secret?"

"We work together," I say.

"I see."

"Please, don't tell my aunt about this," I ask, "or Hans."

"Alright, let's do something," he says, "I'll keep your little secret if you go dinner with me."

"Markus, I told you, I…"

"I meant the three of us," he interrupts me before I make a fool of myself, "you, me, and you secret complicated thing," he smiles.

"I can't make you any promises," I say, thinking of how Severus will react when I tell him this.

* * *

…

* * *

"No," he says as soon as I ask on Sunday evening when we're back from France.

"Is it because you're upset that he was in the wedding?" I ask, unpacking my luggage as we speak.

"No," he repeats, "it's because he not only knows your family, but the husband of one of our colleagues… I don't see it wise to have dinner with him."

"He won't tell anyone, Severus," I insist, "and it will be fun, to go out like…"

"Like what?" he asks when he notices I'm not finishing my sentence.

"Like a real couple," I say, turning around to face him.

"Isn't what we have real?" he asks, his voice is changed.

"Of course it is," I quickly reply, walking towards him, "I didn't mean that, I just… Sometimes I'd like us to just do what other couples do, like going out to dinner with friends."

"He's not my friend," he says, sounding upset, but I know he really isn't.

"Will you do it?" I ask, looking up at him, "for me?"

"You know I hate this kind of things," he says.

"I know," I answer, smiling because I know he's accepting.

"So you'll have to repay me somehow," he adds.

"I'll do whatever you want," I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him by surprise, which I know bothers him, and then I return to my suitcase, "you still have to tell me how I'll have to compensate you for being away," I remind him, "between the wedding and the dinner, I guess I'll end up doing nasty things for a long time…" I mutter, and I suddenly feel his hands on my waist.

"Oh, but you love doing them, don't you?" he asks, as his hands go under my blouse making me shiver.

* * *

…

* * *

Yes, I love doing them, but sometimes, I wonder why.

To compensate my Master from being away for the entire weekend I am only permitted to give oral sex for an entire week.

"My cum will be the first and the last thing you taste every day 'till Friday," he says, "and during the day I will use your mouth whenever and wherever I want to," he adds.

My first thought when he leaves my rooms on Sunday is as stupid as wondering if I will really be able to perform so much oral sex and I can almost feel my jaw feeling sore already. Then, I realize this is just another challenge, another way to test how far I can go to demean myself and please him; and I like challenges.

…

On Monday I convince myself that he hasn't spent the night with me just to make me wake up earlier than ever and cross half the castle to slip into his chambers. He's sleeping, or at least, he pretends to. Am I supposed to wake him up? I don't think so…

Slowly, I pull the sheets down and smile at the fact that his penis is erect. I know it's normal in men to experience this at night, but right now it feels like if he was really waiting for me.

I take a deep breathe, kneel down on the bed and begin to suck, slowly, helping my lips with my hand.

He moves. He's awake. I intend to get up, look at him, say good morning; but I soon feel his hand on the back of my head, keeping me from stopping. I don't know if it should upset me, but it certainly arouses me.

My right hand is free, and without forgetting about my prime job, I slide it under my skirt and begin to touch myself at the same time.

"Hands on your back," he says with a very deep voice that I am not willing to contradict.

I join both hands behind me, trying to ignore my own craving for an orgasm while I hear him moan and then, he explodes in excitement.

I look at him as he recovers from my doing and I smile.

"Take that silly smile off your face and lick me clean," he orders and I obey, not caring about his tone, because I know he's happy.

When I'm done licking and swallowing all the cum that had gone over his thighs and chest, I feel his hand on my hair, undoing my bun, pulling me up to face him.

"That was really good," he says, "but you know I don't like you touching yourself without my permission."

"I'm sorry, Sir," I say.

"Well, you'll feel more sorry after I've caned your ass," he adds.

…

Thirty times he hits my poor ass with his evil cane and he makes me count each one of them. The worst part is that when he's done I am more wet than I was before; and his hand softly caressing my skin while he applies the healing potion over my bruises doesn't help at all.

…

As much as I would have liked us to have breakfast alone in his rooms, I know that we can't. It is one thing to skip meals on the weekend, when even half of the students are in Hogsmeade; and another to do it during the week, when an empty chair is quickly spotted.

We don't want people to start talking, so after a quick shower together we go separately to the Great Hall and don't see each other again until lunch time.

_Owlery. After your classes._

Says a note I find under my plate when I sit on the professor's table and I look at Severus, who nods at me to confirm it is from him.

…

After dinner, I follow Severus into his rooms, with a picture in my mind that I will remember every time I have to send an owl for the next several weeks. The fact that anyone could have walked into us made it very difficult for me to concentrate, and I felt like he was enjoying my fear more than my blowjob. At the end, though, I did manage to finish and we went for a nice walk around the lake afterwards.

I'm kneeling in his bedroom now, naked, my hands on my back, not willing to be caned twice in the same day, especially because I still feel sore from this morning.

He comes in and crosses the room ignoring my presence. Takes his shirt off, then his shoes, trousers, his pants; and he stands in front of me.

"I am a benevolent Master," he says, "so I will allow you to touch yourself this time," he explains, "now, thank me."

"Thank you, Sir," I mutter and I waste no time.

His erection grows in my mouth while I rub my clitoris, and I can feel his cock about to fill my throat with cum while I have not even climaxed yet. Soon, he comes and I keep trying to reach my own orgasm, when I hear him say:

"Stop," and not stopping, he grabs both my hands and pulls them up, "I said stop," he repeats.

"But, please," I beg, "Sir."

"On the bed," he orders, and I fear that he's going to punish me again, but he doesn't.

He makes me lay down with my legs hanging at the edge; he kneels between them and fucks me, with his magical and skillful tongue, while our hands are entangled over the sheets.

After I climax, I think I pass out, because the next thing I remember is waking up on his bed, his back pressed against my back.

**.**

TO BE CONTINUED…


	21. The dinner, my house and a present

A/N: This is a little insight into Severus' life and past, you are free to read between lines.

Enjoy ^^

* * *

**MY MASTER**

**.**

**The dinner, my house and the present**

**.**

**by Saeshmea**

**.**

* * *

"Severus," the Headmaster's voice calls me when I'm about to cross the main doors of the castle and I stop and turn around to face him.

"Good evening, Sir," I say, "may I help you with anything?"

"You said you were spending the weekend home, right?" he asks.

"Indeed, Sir," I say, trying to keep my temper, I hate being watched like a prisoner, "is there any problem?"

"Well, you look very elegant for a lonely stay in the city," he points out.

"I am meeting some friends tonight," I explain, "there are still some of them that you haven't made me put in Azkaban, yet," I say, and I allow myself to enjoy the change in his expression.

"Be careful, Severus, a little mistake at this point could make you join them," he threatens.

"Go ahead, then," I reply, "send me to Azkaban," I dare him, "but I don't think you'll find any other fool willing to trust your word."

"I did everything that was on my hands," he says.

"Except looking for traitors in your own team," I conclude, and I make my way out without any more formalities.

* * *

...

* * *

I'm meeting with Minerva in front of Auror Moody's apartment in half an hour. We are having dinner with that Mr. Goodman guy tonight, and I told her we should just act like any Friday so nobody would get suspicious in the school.

While I wait on the other side of the street, looking at the down blinds of Moody's window, I wonder what they do together every week for the entire afternoon.

I am not jealous, or at least, I know I don't need to be.

After waiting for ten minutes, Minerva comes out from the building right on time and spots me next to the telephone cabin.

"Did I made you wait for too long?" she asks, as she crosses the street.

"No," I answer, and her hands go straight to the tie of my muggle suit and redo the knot.

"You look very handsome," she says, standing on her tiptoes and kissing the corner of my lips without previous notice, something I know she does to annoy me because I like being in control, but I secretly like it when she does it.

"Are we walking to the restaurant?" I ask after she has passed her arm around mine.

"Yes, it's not too far from here," she says, as we begin to walk down the street.

"How was Moody?" I ask, not really caring.

"Fine," she says, and after a long while she adds, "I appreciate you asking," and I look at her and a smile is drawn in her face. "We played chess, like always, and opened a bottle of firewhisky, but I only had a glass," she explains, "he asked about you."

"Did he?"

"Wanted to know how you were doing in the school, if we were very friendly," she says,"I think he fears you might try to do something to me," she finishes the sentence with a giggle. What a wonderful sound it is!

"You should be careful, then," I joke, suddenly stopping and pulling Mimerva with me into an alley.

"Severus, it's not this way," she complaints.

"I know," I reply, gently pushing her against the wall of some building.

"Then, what-" she keeps asking, and I silence her with a kiss, that she returns.

While we breathe, I take my wand out of my pocket and cast an invisibility spell at the entrance of the alley so we can't be seen by the people walking by.

"Please, not here," she begs before I can say anything and it makes me happy that she knows my intentions.

"Whenever and wherever," I quote myself, reminding her that she agreed to it and the week is not finished yet, "it is either here or the restaurant's restroom," I add, "and I don't think you want your friend to get suspicious when we both leave the table at the same time."

She rolls her eyes. I know she'll do it, because I know she wants to do it.

"Nobody can see you, Minerva," I assure her, and after giving one last look at the people in the street, she goes down to her knees and unbuttons my trousers.

...

"Wait," I say before we go into the restaurant.

We have barely talked to each other during the last part of our walk and I'm worried that she's upset.

Minerva stops and looks at me. I take her chin gently and kiss her lips.

"What was that for?" she asks, smilimg again.

"Just to make you smile," I say, and she gazes at me.

"I'm fine," she says as if she could read my mind, "really," she insists with her beautiful smile, "come on, let's go inside."

She takes my hand and we walk in.

...

"Minerva!" a voice calls her from one of the tables and I follow her to a round table in the corner, occupied by a man, maybe a couple years older than her, that stands up when we arrive.

"Hello, Markus," she greets him, "Severus," she turns to me, "this is Markus Goodman," she introduces me and we shake hands, "Mark, this is Severus Snape."

"How do you do?" we both say and then we all take our seats.

"It's a real pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Snape," he says while we're served our drinks, "I hope you'll be so gentle as to tell me your secret."

"I don't know what you mean," I reply and I take a sip from my black wine.

"I mean how you made it to get the heart of this wonderful woman..." he says, and he gazes at Minerva, who blushes and looks at me.

"Well, I don't know if I got her heart," I say, "but all I do is making sure that he has what she needs at every moment," I explain, and Minerva flashes even redder, "and viceversa."

...

Mr. Goodman turns out to be a nice man who doesn't seem able to stop talking about the countries he's lived in and the food he enjoys. He has a lot of anecdotes, but other than that, he's dull for conversation and not very opinionated. He speaks like any polititian, trying to make everyone happy, but he's not bad company.

Minerva doesn't stop smiling during dinner and I wonder if it's because of him or because she's happy we're doing "what other couples do", like she wanted.

"Well, this was a delighful time," Mr. Goodman points out when we leave the restaurant.

"It certainly was," Minerva agrees, and I stand next to her, my arm around her waist.

"Goodnight, lovebirds," he adds, and he takes her hand and places a kiss on the back of her palm, and then shakes mine.

"Goodnight," Minerva and I both say together and watch him walk away a few steps before making our own way.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asks, taking my arm as we walk.

"He's nice," I say, and I pull her into the shadows.

"Severus!" she complaints as she recovers her balance.

"Hold on me," I order, and she passes her arms around my neck as I take her waist and make us disapparate.

* * *

...

* * *

"Where are we?" she asks when we apparate in the corner of solitary street, "I thought we were going back to the castle."

"We're not," I say, "we're spending the weekend here."

"Here, where?" she wonders, and I make her turn around to face the house behind us.

"Is this your home?"

"Yes," I answer, and taking her hand, we walk in.

...

I watch her walk around the living room, examine my bookshelve, feel every surface...

"Why aren't any pictures on the walls?" she asks.

"Pictures?"

"Of your family, your parents..." she clears out.

"I don't see the point on having bad memories around," I mutter.

"I'm sorry," she says, and I don't know if she's apologizing for asking or feeling pity for me.

"Come," I say, and I take her upstairs, to my bedroom, which is not as big as my room in Hogwarts.

As soon as I close the door, I notice Minerva has gone down to her knees. I walk towards her and make her stand up.

I see the confusion on her eyes. I caress her cheek, magically undo her bun, and I kiss her lips gently,

"I'd like to make love to you, Minerva," I say, "no Sirs, no orders, rules or spells," I add, "just you and me."

She doesn't say a word, but she kisses me back while her hands move quickly undoing my tie and unbuttoning my shirt.

Our clothes soon cover the cold floor of the room as we lie on the grey sheets of my bed, her body on top of mine, her hair falling on my chest.

She's so beautiful, so passionate, so different...

* * *

...

* * *

"Good moring," she mutters, turning around to face me when the sun light comes into the room through the closed courtains.

"Good morning," I reply, "did you sleep well?" I ask, and she nodds, "I should go to the grocery store," I say, "would you like to come?"

"We should have a shower first," she says, climbing on top of me, holding my wrists and kissing my lips. Fast but gentle, I turn us around so she's the one trapped under my body. She curses something and I kiss her.

"Forgot your manners?" I ask.

"I thought you said no rules," she mutters.

"That moment is gone," I point out, "I am your master and you are back to being my dirty little slut," I whisper this on her ear, and I love the reaction of her body, as if only these words made her relive again our first weekend together, "say it," I say, and she scowls at me, knowing I just want to amuse myself, "come on."

"You're my Master," she repeats, " and I am your - dirty - little - slut," every word more harder to say, but she does it, and I reward her with a kiss.

...

* * *

"Severus?" asks Mrs. Wilson, the owner of the grocery store of the corner of the street when it's my turn to pay, "It's so nice to see you back in the neighborhood!"

"How do you do, Mrs. Wilson?" I ask, politely, "I'm here only for the weekend."

"Do you still travel around with that mysterious job of yours?" she asks.

"No, ma'am, I work as a professor in a boarding school, now," I explain. Mrs. Wilson has been behind this counter for as back as my memory can go, and she has always been nice to me.

"Professor? That would certainly have made your mother very proud," she says, and at that moment Minerva comes with the eggs and tomatoes we were forgetting.

"Here you are," she says, leaving them on the counter, and I can read on Mrs. Wilson's face her surprise.

"And who would this beautiful lady be?" she asks.

"Minerva McGonagall," she introduces herself, completely ignoring me, "nice to meet you."

"Are you a friend of our Severus?" Mrs. Wilson asks.

"You could say it like that," she answers, smiling, while I pay our bill.

"Oh, I'm so happy," Mrs. Wilson exclaims, "he's always been such a solitary boy, we though we would never see him married, you know."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Wilson, but we really are in a hurry," I say, taking the bags and Minerva's hand and leaving the shop before anything else is said.

...

"So a solitary boy, uh?" Minerva asks while we walk back to my house, "did you never bring a girlfriend home?" she adds, "or a submissive?"

"No," I answer honestly.

"You mean I am the very first woman you've brought into your house?" she asks, standing between me and the door when we arrive.

"Yes," I say.

"Is that why you wanted last night to be - different?"

"Yes," I conclude and she steps away so I can let us both in.

We fall into a deep silence and I cook some french pancakes while she prepares the tea. After we've sat on the table, I notice she's staring at me.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Nothing," she mutters, "I just - thank you for bringing me here," she says, and I know by her voice that she understands what it means for me, what it means for us.

"I have a present for you," I say, trying to take tention out of the way.

"A present?" she asks.

"Yes," and I take out my wand and make a small packet appear between us, "open it."

She looks at me and then at the gift, unwraps it and opens the box as if afraid of breaking what's insight.

"Do you like it?" I ask, trying to read the expression on her face.

.

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
